


A Crack in Everything

by likeporcelain



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But just a slight Valentine's Day theme, Eventually explicit but not in the beginning, F/M, High School, Incest warning - don't read if you aren't prepared for it, R plus L equals J, Set in the Los Angeles area - sorry but that's where I live so it came naturally that way, Switches between teenage Jon and Dany to adult Jon and Dany, Valentine's Day, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeporcelain/pseuds/likeporcelain
Summary: Six years after their high school romance ended in emotional ruin, Daenerys Targaryen runs into Jon Snow by chance on Valentine's Day, forcing old memories to resurface. This sudden reunion could be cathartic, but it could also deepen the cracks already in their hearts. The question Daenerys grapples with is, will this all be worth it in the end?(Title comes from the song "New York" by Andrew Belle)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is more or less complete. There are seven chapters plus an epilogue. Because this is a finished story, I will be updating often - a new chapter every other day or possibly every day depending on what's going on with me - so please check back regularly if you enjoy this! Please give kudos if you like it, and comments are welcome. I'm more than happy to receive constructive criticism as it pertains to improving my writing, but please be respectful to me and each other. Thank you in advance for reading!

It was Valentine’s Day. The only reason I knew that was because my roommate/co-worker convinced me to cover her evening shift, killing two birds with one stone. She would get the time off to spend with her boyfriend and I wouldn’t be home to get in the way. Truthfully, it didn’t take much convincing for me to agree. I needed the extra money and I actually didn’t mind my job. It took my mind off of other things.

Martell's Pet Supply was a family run pet shop in the Marketplace, a high end shopping center where most of the establishments were small businesses frequented by the wealthy families living in the surrounding suburbs. The only chains were a Coffee Bean, a Panara Bread, and a Whole Foods. I made minimum wage, but there were definitely worse places to work. At least the chances of getting robbed on my way to the bus stop were next to none.

After seven, the after work rush died down and I was able to coast through most of the night until closing time at nine, but I had to stay another hour to help the evening manager with inventory.

“Good work today, Dany. Why don’t you head home early,” Daario, my manager said as if it wasn’t already past ten. 

I wouldn't get home now until after eleven which was too late to grab food from the burger place by my apartment like I had planned. There was no food at the apartment – my roommate and I had reached a stalemate as to whose turn it was to go grocery shopping. I would have to buy something now and take it home with me, but the only place still open between Martell's and my bus stop was Whole Foods. Expensive as heck, but my only option.

By the time I got to the sliding doors of the grocery store, I only had ten minutes before the bus would arrive. I removed my name tag and untucked the yellow polo shirt that clashed uncomfortably with my fair skin and silver-white hair. Moving quickly around the store, I grabbed a pre-made salad, chips and a Pure Leaf sweet tea, went through the self check out and made a sharp right back to the sliding door. Distracted by trying to shove the mile long receipt into the paper bag I'd begrudgingly paid ten cents for, my shoulder collided right into a hard structure. Not a structure actually. A person.

“Shit, I’m sorr. . .” The word turned to a drawn out stutter of shock. I had turned up from my bag to see the face of the man I'd rushed right into, connecting for a moment with dark haunting eyes I thought I'd never see again. My stomach dropped to my feet and I turned to the door, my anxiety urging me to run away, but my body wouldn’t listen. Slowly, I made another turn, confronting this man against my instincts. 

“Jon?” In trying to keep my voice from wavering, the question came out like he had never meant anything to me, like he was just an old acquaintance I wouldn’t mind catching up with.

He had taken a few steps back from me and I wondered if his first instinct had been the same as mine, but he stood in place, looking right at me. His black hair was pushed behind his head, a few loose curls dangling down his neck and behind his ears. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while and his face was as pale as ever, but he didn’t appear unhealthy. Actually, he seemed strong, stronger than I remembered with broad shoulders and decently muscular arms under a fitted long sleeve shirt. It took my mind a second to register the thin pink scars marking his face, one running from his forehead, skipping over his left eye and continuing down his cheek, and a smaller scar hooking around his right eyebrow.

“Daenerys?” He asked in that quiet, deep voice I hadn’t heard in six years, just as I hadn't heard anyone call me by my full name in as much time. “You cut your hair.”

The hand that wasn’t holding my shopping bag raised to the dried fringes of my hair that hung loose, just long enough to graze my shoulders. That was always the first thing someone said when they saw me nowadays. I’d cut it for the first time just a year ago thinking a change in my appearance would change the way I felt about myself. It wasn't so, but I’d kept cutting it anyway. The glint of my watch caught my eye and I remembered I was in a hurry, but suddenly didn’t care.

“You. . . You're face. . .” My general concern for his well being never left me and it was showing in my tone and my eyebrows.

“I thought they made me look cool.” It was a joke, a reference to the past, but there wasn’t humor in his tone and I made no attempt at a courteous laugh.

* * * * *

Six years ago, Jon and I had been seniors in high school. No one at Westeros Preparatory High School liked me because they all thought I had inherited all the wealth my father had stolen once upon a time, but the truth was that all my family’s money died when my father did and I had been attending school on a full academic scholarship. When Jon Snow walked into my Chemistry class two months into the school year as a new student, I knew everyone loved him and feared him all at once. He was a Stark, which was enough to put him on the map, and he had a tattoo of a tree on his forearm, a trunk in black with leaves of red. Later he would tell me the tree was based off an old folk tale his mother used to tell him. To our classmates though, it made him look hard, dangerous even. He was the only person at school with a tattoo as far as I knew.

For a long time, I had thought Jon hated me too, for the same reason everyone else did, because I was supposedly rich beyond belief and never associated with the other students because I thought I was above them all. This caused me to hate him at first as well. I saw him as a punk, a poser, a rich kid pretending he wasn’t just to disappoint his daddy and brooding around campus to make the girls think he was mysterious. 

One day in Chemistry, while Jon and I were still at odds, I had been rebelling a bit by listening to my iPod during a boring lecture. The music was turned low and I had my long waves of hair covering the ear bud and wire. Jon sat next to me – the seating chart was alphabetical, Snow and Targaryen. He had picked up the second ear bud from where it dangled at my side and put it to his ear. When I realized this, I tugged on the wire, trying to pull it away from him, more embarrassed that I was listening to Miley Cyrus than anything else. He smiled one of his sly, taunting half smiles and held the ear bud firm in his ear. “Stop it,” I had demanded in a sharp whisper.

We got after-school detention for that, and Mr. Baratheon confiscated my iPod.

Our ornery, balding Chemistry teacher, glared at me from his desk as our punishment period began.

“I’m disappointed in you, Miss Targaryen,” said Mr. Baratheon, dull and cold. “Usually our scholarship kids are extra careful not to get into any trouble. Just one infraction can seriously jeopardize your admission to this school. Maybe you’re thinking you'd be better suited at a school that tolerates mischief. Maybe our high ethical standards and expectations of greatness bore you now. Maybe you'd like to leave our little school and go back to Jefferson or whatever other rat hole public school you went to before.”

I hadn’t replied. I wanted to cry. I’d never been in trouble before and it felt in that moment like my life was over, that I would be expelled, that I would never go to college and have to work at the Banana Republic Outlet forever, though I would later realized Mr. Baratheon was just blowing smoke. When my eyes wandered to where Jon was sitting on the other side of the room, he was no longer wearing that smug, accomplished smile. Instead, he looked at me like he was sorry, like he was worried for me and he knew that it was his fault. I knew I liked him then, because he was the only person who ever apologized to me for something they’d done to me, even if it was just with his eyes.

A half hour into our punishment of having to sit silently, doing extra worksheets for no credit, I asked if I could use the restroom. Like the asshole he was, Mr. Baratheon insisted on following me and waiting in the hallway outside the restroom until I finished, then escorting me back to the classroom. It didn’t seem like Jon had moved a muscle while we were gone but when I reached my desk, there was a closed pack of Marlboro Reds on my chair. I cursed under my breath, moving the pack into my opened backpack before Mr. Baratheon could see. Glancing at Jon, he was smiling again, but his eyes were on the wall in front of him. I sat, and for the next half hour, wondered if this was some compulsion of his, this constant effort to get me in trouble. He had looked so sincere. Was it just a trick?

“What did you do?” Mr. Baratheon suddenly asked. He had is top desk drawer open, eyes staring into it and for a second I thought he was speaking to a mouse he’d found scurrying around in there. But then he was opening up more drawers, shuffling through them. Eventually his focus turned to me. “Where is it?” he asked madly.

“Where is what?”

“The electronic device I confiscated from you earlier today. I put it in this desk drawer and now it's gone.”

“You lost my iPod?” I asked, growing genuinely upset.

“Very funny. Give it back at once or you can expect more afternoons spent in detention.” He had moved to stand and walked up to me with an outstretched hand.

“I don’t have it,” I insisted.

“When’s the last time you saw it in the drawer?” Jon interjected and I realized it was the first time I’d heard him speak that day. He rarely spoke. Mostly he communicated in looks, smug ones, bored ones, sad ones, unreadable ones.

“Just after the final bell, before you two punks got here, so I know it had to have been her.”

“Dude, you've been staring right at her since the moment she walked through the door. You even followed her into the restroom, which was pretty pervy, by the way, so when would she have taken it?”

“I didn’t follow her into the restroom. I followed her to the restroom.” Mr. Baratheon was growing flustered, hands on his hips and glaring at Jon with exasperation.

If felt oddly comforting to be defended by Jon Snow, even though I was more than positive he had taken my iPod if it had indeed been taken.

Recovering, our teacher marched toward Jon and exclaimed “This is just making me think you're the one who stole it. Perhaps I was too hard on Miss Targaryen. Perhaps she hadn’t been sharing her iPod with you in class today. Perhaps you had been trying to steal it from her pocket and she's just too nice of a girl to tattle. I don’t know what a degenerate like you would need to steal an iPod for, though. Aren’t you living with your uncle now? The one who owns that mansion on Park Place with the obscene wolf statue out front. Perhaps old habits just die hard. Well, we have no need for rotten thieves in this school, no matter who your related to.”

Jon stood and my face went hot with anxiety. Would Jon really fight a teacher over something as silly as a stolen iPod? It wasn’t even a good one. It was a hot pink Nano my social worker got me when I received my scholarship three years back. The backtrack button didn’t work, the screen had a scratch, and it had no more space for new music. I was saving up for a brand new 64GB Classic and was almost there.

Spreading his arms out to his sides, Jon asked “You want to search me?” When Mr. Baratheon rolled his eyes, Jon started pulling everything out of his pockets. His phone, wallet, keys, a couple of Paper Mate pens and loose cigarettes. He even bent forward and unlaced his green Converse high tops, tugging them off one by one and overturning them with a couple shakes for dramatics. Jon never took a backpack to school, rather he carried around a thin spiral bound notebook and a cheap folder to hold loose papers. He made a show of shaking his notebook and fanning out the papers in his folder to assure our teacher that an iPod hadn’t wound up there.

It was only after Jon had started unbuttoning his shirt that Mr. Baratheon stopped him, saying “Alright, alright, Mr. Snow, I think you've made your point.”

“You sure, man? I could touch my toes and cough if it'll put your mind at ease.”

I remember chuckling under my breath – the first time Jon ever made me smile – and Mr. Baratheon threw me an evil stare. “I don’t know why you think this is funny, Miss Targaryen. This is your property we’re discussing. I was going to give the devise back to you after detention, but I suppose you’ll have to file it as a missing item with Administration instead.” After a heavy sigh, he pressed his fingers to his temple, and shook his head. “Just get out of here, you two. I can't tolerate another minute of you.”

Quickly, I gathered my things and checked the wall clock, pleased to see that I wouldn’t have to wait til the four o'clock bus and I may even make it to work on time. As I walked out of the class I heard Mr. Baratheon tell Jon that he would from then on have to sit in the front row during class “far away from Miss Targaryen.”

Remembering the Marlboros, I waited in the hallway for Jon to finish putting his shoes back on. Truthfully, the cigarettes were just an excuse to talk to him, though I had no idea what I would say. It felt like something changed between us that day in detention. Like we had met each other for the first time. While I waited, I wondered if maybe Jon had given me the Marlboros because he wanted to talk to me too.

His shirt was still unbuttoned down past his chest when he exited the classroom and even though he was wearing an undershirt, it was tight and thin and exposed a hint of lean muscle. I felt my cheeks flush, but hoped I hid my interest well.

“Here,” I thrust the cigarette pack out to him.

With a simple nod, he took it from my hand, popped the top and turned over the box until a thin hot pink rectangle and a tangled ball of ear buds tumbled into his palm. He handed it to me wearing that same smile as when I had come back from the restroom.

I smiled too, down at the iPod like he had bought it for me himself. I thanked him and slid it into the pocket of my monogrammed uniform sweater. A couple of Junior girls in volleyball clothes entered the building and Jon slid one of the cigarettes from his pocket into his mouth and nodded at them rather than saying hello. The girls whispered to each other as they passed, something girls, and boys, often did around Jon.

“You can’t smoke in here. You shouldn’t smoke at all,” I told him, regaining some of the annoyed tone I was so used to using with him.

“I don’t smoke.” He removed the cigarette from his lips and put it behind his ear. When he began down the hall toward the front of the school, he walked slow and I knew he intended for me to walk with him. So I did.

“Why do you have cigarettes if you don’t smoke? I see you with them in your mouth all the time.”

“Never lit.”

Now, this all happened before that John Green book came out, or else I would have made fun of Jon mercilessly at this moment. Instead, I just scrunched my face in confusion. “I don't understand. What's the point then?”

Jon shrugged and gave one of his sly smiles. “I do it because it makes me look cool. You know, like James Dean.”

The response had surprised me into a fit of laughter and Jon simply watched me with his dark eyes, his hands in his pockets, until I finished with a deep, uneven breath.

“I didn't think you'd care about looking cool or not.”

“You only think that because I look so cool.”

Later I would realize that it had nothing to do with looking cool. He just thought that people at our school wouldn’t talk to a guy who smoked, and he was right. Though it was another thing that made him stand out, it didn’t earn him many friends because it was seen as a lowly habit unbecoming of a Westeros Prep student.

* * * * *

Standing just within the doorway of that Whole Foods, I could smell the tobacco coming off of Jon, realizing that at some point in the last six years, he'd finally lit the cigarettes he always kept handy. Aside from the smell, the scars, the stubble, and a look of age beyond his years in his eyes, Jon seemed so much like I remembered. Probably because his clothes were so similar to our school's strict uniform. Instead of Navy slacks, he wore black, and a white button up, tucked in. He even had on a pair of green Converse. It was then that I noticed the name tag pinned to his shirt above the breast pocket, like mine from Martell's, but different.

“You work here,” I said.

He nodded.

“For how long?”

“A few months.”

“If you’re working, I should go. I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I said quickly, face reddening, mind racing. Jon had been working four shops down from me for months and it wasn’t like we were in the same town we went to high school in. This was a coastal city farther South, at least thirty miles from where we lived at seventeen.

“Yeah. We're closing soon, but I should get back.” He turned his head, scanning the nearly empty store. Maybe he felt as awkward as I did, or maybe he was just checking to make sure his manager wasn’t looking.

“I have to catch a bus anyway.”

“Still not driving?”

For a moment I saw a flash of his old self, a quick pull of his mouth and glint in his eye, but in a flash it was gone.

“No,” I answered with a glance down at my feet, thinking about all that had happened in my life since the last time I'd seen Jon. Before I left, I took a breath and quickly said “I work at Martell's. The pet supply store just down the path a little ways. I don’t usually work evenings, I’m just covering for my friend who had Valentine’s plans. My usual shift is Thursday through Sunday, noon to five.”

A few moments past before he mumbled “Okay.” I hated that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if he was contemplating my schedule so that he could visit me one day to catch up, or if he was simply wondering why I had given him my schedule at all. As I hurried out of the store, still trying to catch the ten-thirty bus, I hoped it was the former, but he hadn't offered me his schedule in return and I took that as a bad sign.

Almost an hour went by before I got to my apartment on the East side of town, a first floor unit with two small bedrooms and an old, pink-tiled bathroom. There was no balcony and all of our windows were facing the apartment building right beside ours, but with our slim budget, it was the best my roommate and I could afford. 

I made a bee-line for my bedroom as soon as I was in the front door. Missandei's door was closed and I could hear faint sounds of Valentine’s Day fucking through the wall, but it was nothing Netflix couldn’t drown out, so I pulled out my laptop to get it going. I ate my salad to an episode of Friends, but my mind was elsewhere. When my food was gone, I tossed the garbage in my wastebasket and opened iTunes, wondering if I still had any of my old songs on there from high school. I pressed play on an old Awolnation album, remembering how Jon had gotten me into the artist.

“It’s like emo, but cool,” he had said one day during lunch, holding his phone speaker up to my ear. I remembered having been familiar with the band, but I didn’t start liking it until that day.

* * * * *

Jon and I hadn’t become friends immediately after that day in detention. It was actually another month before we even spoke to each other again. I had purchased pizza from the food stand for lunch, something I almost never did, but I'd had an early morning debate club meeting which allowed me no time to make my lunch that morning. On my way to my usual lunch spot, plate of pizza in hand, I had been stopped by a Paper Mate pen flying in the air in front of me, landing with a crack against the pavement and rolling away. When I turned toward where the pen had flown from, Jon was sitting on the steps of the basketball gym’s seldom used back door. He waved me over and I went to him without a second thought. He apologized about the pen. I’d later deduce that Jon wasn't one to raise his voice. Almost never. Not in anger, not in excitement, and not even to simply get someone's attention.

While I ate, Jon played me music on his phone. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to show off his new phone or if he actually wanted to be friends, but after that day, I ate lunch with him behind the basketball gym whenever I didn't have a club meeting or tutoring session. He introduced me to Awolnation and a bunch of other bands, new and old, some of which are still my favorites today. He also introduced me to books.

All my life I had been studious, but it was always to reach an ultimate end game: college. Eventually, learning stopped being fun. It was all about what more I could do to look better on a university application. I almost never read for pleasure, but Jon only read for pleasure. While I was painfully studying Beowulf for British Lit, Jon was busting through a different novel each week. Everything from John Steinbeck to Stephen King, Jane Austin to John Grisham. I learned that he loved words. He loved crossword puzzles and sometimes I’d catch him reading the dictionary. The fact that he was a straight D student made me feel special. It was like he couldn’t let anyone know he was actually smart. Anyone except me.

Jon liked that we were smart in different ways. At first I thought it was because he always needed to copy my Chemistry homework, but one day he said “I can’t spend too much time with people who are just like me. It’s too competitive. Eventually we'd just be fighting over which one of us is the better version of the same person. And I like being around people who can teach me something. I feel like I could learn a lot from you.”

I wanted to kiss him then, but I didn’t. Even after weeks of lunches spent talking about anything and everything, I was still afraid of him. He was being friendly, but I was just like every other girl at school, lustful and wary, waiting with hearts in my eyes until he would finally snap and act out in some way stereotypical of a tatted flunky from the wrong side of the tracks.

I hadn’t understood then that “learn a lot from me” had meant learn a lot about me. He wasn’t just being friendly, he was being a friend.

* * * * *

Curled in bed that Valentine's night, lights out and the quiet beat of Megalithic Symphony dulling the thumps and moans coming from the other side of my wall, I cried for the first time in months. Not just from thinking about what had happened between me and Jon, or even from thinking about what all happened since then. I cried because for the first time in a long time, I wanted to talk to someone about it all, and I didn’t even know if he'd want to see me again.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Jon didn't come see me at Martell's, and I hadn't really expected him to, but I had hoped. After a full week of hoping, I had given up any attempt to make myself prettier in the morning, opting for an extra hour of sleep rather than a longer shower and enough time to straighten my hair and apply the right amount of makeup. When I got to work looking my usual, slightly disheveled self, the male employees working my shift made similar comments about how they preferred my hair straight and Daario risked me filing a complaint with the bosses by smirking at me and saying “Done trying to impress me, huh? You know you're my favorite, Dany.” I rolled my eyes and tried to avoid him the rest of the day, but I couldn't help but feel like a fool for ever doing anything to impress anyone, even Jon.

It would be another week, the first day of March, that I would see Jon again. I had just had a rather annoying conversation with Daario where he tried to convince me it was still February. His version of flirting no doubt, judging by the way he would wink his eye and lean toward me across the register counter. I had been moments from leaving to use the restroom, just to buy me a couple minutes alone, when the little box above the sliding front door dinged. 

He looked the same as when I ran into him at his work, but this time in a white t-shirt exposing an arm covered in ink and his hair was down in dark curls I remembered well. When his eyes found mine, I dropped my gaze to the counter top, cowardly. 

“Hi there, Sir. Let me know if you need any help,” Daario greeted him. 

I had wanted to see Jon for days, but now I found myself hoping my manager's long back was enough to hide me from him. I heard footsteps move further into the store and when I looked up, Daario was sending me a look of displeasure. “I shouldn't have to do your job for you, Dany. That's why I'm the manager and you're the floor associate. Now go see if he needs any help.”

As I walked past the isles, I ran my fingers through my hair anxiously before just giving up and using the black hair tie around my wrist to pull it all into a pony tail. I found Jon in the last isle, hands in his pockets and staring at shelves stocked with grain-free dog food. 

“Do you have a dog?” I asked, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. 

“No.”

When he turned to look at me, I forced myself to keep eye contact. “Do you have any pets?”

“No.”

Seemed like as sure a sign as any that he had come in to see me, but my mind still raced with alternate explanations. He needed to buy a gift for a friend's dog's birthday party perhaps?

“Neither do I.”

“Do you have a lunch break coming up or something?”

“No, I don't get lunch breaks because I only work five hours a day.”

“Oh. . . I have work at two.”

It was already one, according to my watch. 

“I could take lunch at five, if you want me to,” Jon suggested.

Did I want him to take lunch at five? I got off work at five. He obviously wanted to talk to me, or he was just doing this because he thought I wanted to talk to him. This felt horribly awkward. Jon and I had never been this unsure with each other, not even when we sat next to each other in Chemistry all those years ago. Did I really want to keep doing this? Keep having painfully awkward conversations with a guy I wished meant nothing to me? 

“Yes,” I answered. “Yeah, okay.”

He nodded and for a few moments we just stood there in silence. But then his feet moved and he left. 

As soon as I got back to the register, Daario threw up his hands at me. “Maybe if you'd kept up the beauty treatments, you'd actually get someone to buy something every once in a while.”

* * * * *

At the end of the last lunch period before Christmas break, Jon put his number in my phone and told me to text or call whenever I wanted during the two week period we would be away from each other. I texted him as soon as we got into Chemistry, telling him to do the same. This would be the first stretch of time he would spend at his uncle Ned's house without the reprieve of school and – I thought, optimistically – me. He didn't say so, but I knew he was nervous about it.

“Are you in hell?” I had texted him Christmas morning just after waking up. The night before he had texted me almost nonstop about a horrendous Holiday party his aunt Cat had thrown, inviting a slew of neighbors, Ned's employees, and their families. Every other minute my phone had buzzed with a new message detailing another insufferable conversation he'd had to sit through, or another bizarre appetizer he was forced to try, or another tipsy middle aged woman hitting on him before pretending like she didn't know he was only seventeen. 

He had told me Christmas would be “family day” which was not a good thing. It wasn't that he disliked his family. Although he resented his uncle on behalf of his mother, Jon cared for him like one cares for family and he genuinely enjoyed his cousins. Jon just wasn't good at being part of a family. A lone wolf trying to be part of the pack.

“I've been pretending to still be asleep for an hour. Eventually they'll send someone in for me,” Jon replied right away.

“I wish I could pretend to sleep. I've got work today. Pray for me and I'll pray for you.”

Christmas was a busy day at the outlet mall. I'd worked every day since our break began and would work almost every day until going back to school. On the bright side, I was going to stop by the Apple Store after my shift and get the 64GB Classic I finally had the money for. A Christmas gift for myself, since I wouldn't get any from anyone else. That was what I thought at least. 

A half hour before my shift at Banana Republic was up, I felt a gust of warm breath tickle the back of my neck as I fixed the 50% Off rack. I giggled and twisted, swatting Jon on the shoulder. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down. 

He looked nice. Too nice. Clear face, goop in his hair, and wearing clothes that looked like what we sold at Banana Republic, but more expensive. Not at all the sort of wardrobe I had imagined Jon would wear during his free time. A teal sweater – cashmere? – and black chinos.

“I snuck out.”

“You snuck out?”

“You would sneak out too, Daenerys. They were about to have a family portrait taken. Look at what I'm wearing right now. I told them I was going to the bathroom and went right out the window.”

Jon always used my full first name. He had found out on his own what Dany was short for and refused to use the nickname ever since. If he had been anyone else it would have annoyed me – I was self conscious about my name because it just highlighted the fact that I was a Targaryen, daughter of the infamous Aerys Targaryen, who was convicted of fraud when he stole over a billion dollars from his clients as a financial adviser – but the syllables sounded so soft on his tongue, never accusatory or cold. “I love your name. Your whole name. I want to know where it comes from,” he'd said to me, and when I reveled to him that both parts of my name were essentially made up – Targaryen being adopted some two hundred years ago when my ancestors wanted to stand out – Jon told me about his name. “My mom was a Stark obviously, but I never knew who my father was. Only Mom's name is on my birth certificate. As far as I know, when the nurse asked her what she wanted to name me, she said Jon Snow on a whim. All I know is that she never wanted me to be a Stark. I guess both of our names are made up then.”

After begging to be let off work a bit early, I made Jon go with me to the Apple Store and then we took a walk around the Outlets, buying a couple of cinnamon pretzels and talking like we were still sitting behind the basketball gym at school. While he had much more to complain about regarding his time cooped up at the Stark place, there were good things he shared as well. He told me about the strange things twelve year old Arya did to make him laugh and showed me goofy pictures of six year old Rickon. Apparently, ten year old Bran could scale the entire facade of the Stark mansion in less than sixty seconds, but got grounded whenever his mom caught him. Sansa, who I already vaguely knew as a freshman at our school, was quite the seamstress, according to Jon, and was already designing her dream wedding gown, despite not having a boyfriend and being only fourteen. 

Lastly, Robb, just a bit older than Jon, was home for the holidays from USC and managed to get into Jon's good graces enough for an odd-couple friendship to form. Robb had graduated from Westeros Prep the year before. We had shared a math class but hardly ever exchanged words. He was always polite, though, and I hoped he wasn't trying to change Jon's opinion of me. If he was, Jon didn't mention it. 

Even though they were Starks, I liked that Jon was getting along with his family. It made me feel like I could one day have a big family too and do alright. 

I had no delusions that this was a date. Jon may have paid for my pretzel, but not once did he hold my hand and I didn't try to hold his either. However, this time together outside of school made me wonder what a date with Jon would be like. I wanted to find out. 

The sun was going down and I was finishing up a hot chocolate when Jon finally looked at his phone. He cursed under his breath at all the missed calls and texts from his aunt wondering where he was. “Apparently I've ruined Christmas,” Jon told me with a small chuckle. I blushed at the irony, because from my point of view, it was the best Christmas I'd ever had. 

I walked with him to his car and he offered to drive me home. I made up some excuse so that he wouldn't insist. Despite knowing Jon wasn't actually a rich kid, I didn't know enough about where he came from to feel comfortable enough showing him where I lived, alone in a tiny studio apartment above a Seven-Eleven on the wrong side of town. 

“Okay, but before I leave, I have to give you your present.” He popped the trunk of the Mazda sedan his uncle got him shortly after he moved in. 

“You shouldn't have gotten me anything, Jon. I didn't get you anything.”

“I don't want anything,” he replied and lifted a brown Ralph's bag from the trunk and presented it to me. 

“You got me groceries? How thoughtful.”

“Just look inside, smart ass.”

Smiling, I dipped my hand inside and felt something soft. It was a sweatshirt in crimson and when I unfolded it, I saw big-print white letters running across the chest. “HARVARD.”

“That's where you're going to go, right? Sorry, I'm not really good at gift giving.”

I shook my head and hugged the sweatshirt to my chest with one arm. “Well, that's my first choice, but I think my chances of getting in are slim. Thank you, though. You're sweet.”

“Well, don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my cred.” He closed the trunk and leaned back on it. “Are you sure you don't want a ride home?”

“My gift to you will be you not having to drive me home. It's in the complete wrong direction, and it sounds like you might become the victim of domestic violence if you don't get home soon.”

He didn't move right away. His finger tips drummed on the car and his face scrunched in the way it would when he was thinking about something. I wondered for a moment if he was going to ask me out, or maybe even kiss me, but when he finally pushed himself off the car, he took me into a quick one armed hug and said he'd see me at school. I should have been happy. Jon had never really touched me before save for an accidental shoulder bump here and there, and that day, he had made the conscious decision to wrap his arm around my shoulders and bring me gently to his chest. But I didn't think of it as a step forward at the time. I thought of it as a missed opportunity, and figured I was doomed to wade in the frigid pond of friendship until he found someone he liked better. 

* * * * *

The time on my watch read five o'clock and I realized that Jon and I hadn't discussed where to meet. Was I supposed to go to Whole Foods or was he going to come back to Martell's? I said goodbye to Daario, grabbed my purse from the back room and walked out into the breezeway in front of the shop. Figuring that if I walked toward Whole Foods I'd eventually run into Jon, I started moving. The sun was starting to fall and the lights lining the walkway were turning on. I got to the first set of Whole Foods' sliding doors just as Jon was coming out of them. I watched him pull out a cigarette and light it with a green Bic lighter before announcing myself. 

“You're smoking for real now, huh?” I pretended like I hadn't already deduced that, just to have something to say.

He turned to me and expelled some smoke that puffed upward with the wind. “I know it's unhealthy, but I figure it's at least a better alternative than some things I could be hooked on.”

If he had been anyone else, I would have silently judged that excuse, but I knew Jon and where he came from. If he needed to smoke to avoid other substances, I wasn't going to give it a second thought.

“Yeah, I'm pretty much addicted to caffeine at this point. Still don't like coffee, but it's just Diet Coke and Dr. Pepper all day long. I once drank four Monsters in one day. I'm strictly soda now, though. But, I guess I don't really know the difference health wise.”

“Do you want to walk? I have to find something to eat that isn't organic.”

I followed him out of the Marketplace, across the street to the In-n-Out, both of us completely silent until I told him I'd save an outdoor table while he ordered. Despite the coolness in the dusk air, I was acutely aware of how much I had been perspiring and sitting inside a stuffy fast food restaurant would be torture. 

After a bit, Jon sat down across from me with a tray of burgers, and two cups. “I know you didn't eat, so I got you a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. You still don't like thousand island, right?”

“Yeah. Thank you. How much was it?”

Jon waved away my question away with a sweep of his hand before grabbing a burger and taking a bite. In school, Jon never ate during lunch period. He didn't want to bother one of the Starks' many servants by having them fix something for him and he didn't want to venture into one of the busy food lines on campus. On the few occasions I'd get to watch him eat, I enjoyed it maybe more than was normal. The way his jaw moved and his lips pursed while he chewed. . .

We both ate silently until Jon was half way finished with his burger. He set it down on the tray, wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked “So what the hell are you doing working at that stupid place?”

Swallowing hard, I took a sip of milkshake to sooth my throat. “Need money.”

“So you're still in school?”

I took another few sips, buying myself some time. “No, I'm not.”

“I don't understand.”

“What the hell happened to your face?” I asked instead, my anxiety turning to frustration at the way he was trying to interview me. 

His eyes moved to the table top as he twisted a fry in his fingers. “Got cut,” he replied. 

“How long have you been in Long Beach?”

“About a year. Sam lives here and I was staying with him for a bit, but it didn't really work out so I've been on my own for a little while.”

“Sam? Shit, I haven't heard from Sam in forever. I haven't heard from anyone in forever. How is he?”

“Married.”

“Are you serious?”

Nodding, he resumed eating. 

My shoulders relaxed, thinking about Sam now instead of how insecure I was about my life.

* * * * *

I had been jealous of Samwell Tarly once. I had grown so used to being the only person at Westeros Prep that Jon could tolerate that seeing him and Sam become chummy in Chemistry made my heart beat a little more irregular. Sam had been in most of my classes since Sophomore year, but I didn't know much about him, just that his family was wealthy like everyone else, he was a straight-A student like I was, and he had no other friends, also like me. For a whole week I had convinced myself that Jon was replacing me with Sam, that he had realized I had a crush on him and felt it was time to get a friend who didn't think about kissing him all the time. 

When Jon wasn't behind the basketball gym at lunch that Friday, I was sure that he was with Sam, but I didn't know where that would be. He had left me, and I needed to accept that. One would think that I'd be used to losing people, what with how many people I'd already lost, my father and oldest brother having died before my birth, my mother dying on the day of my birth, my other brother, Viserys, promising to take care of me and then doing the opposite until deciding I wasn't worth the trouble. This felt different, though. This was abandonment without explanation, without closure. 

When the bell rang, I walked to Chemistry by myself, checking my phone once again to see if Jon had texted me with an explanation for his absence. Nothing. But then a hand landed on my shoulder and I stopped in my tracks, looking up and expecting to see Jon, but the boy beside me was taller, thinner, and his curls were blond and not black. 

“Hey, Dany,” Loras Tyrell greeted me with his blue eyes shining brightly, like I wasn't just his math tutor. “You hear about the party at Dick's tomorrow night?”

“Like, Dick's Sporting Goods?”

Loras laughed one of his melodic laughs and smiled sweetly down at me. “You're funny, Dany. I always thought you were a cool girl. Everyone else at this school has there heads up their asses. No, I'm talking about Dick Tarly.” 

“Tarly? Like, related to Sam Tarly?”

“Yeah, I guess. Look, I was wondering if you were planning on going, because if you are, I think it would be awesome if we went together.”

“Um. . .” My mouth had gone dry and I forgot all about the bell and that I had to be anywhere. “Okay?”

“Alright, sweet. So, I won't be able to pick you up or anything because I'm grounded from using the car and I've gotta hitch a ride with my sister. But, when you get there, find me, alright?”

“Sure.”

And without another word, Loras was off and I was standing in an empty hallway, mind struggling to process what had just happened. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I had just agreed to go on a date with one of the richest and most attractive students at Westeros Prep. I was late to Chemistry that Friday and my punishment was not being able to take the pop quiz Mr. Baratheon handed out before I got to my seat. 

After the quiz, was a lab assignment. Sam had become Jon's lab partner after his last partner moved away during the break and I used that as a way to blame Mr. Baratheon for taking Jon away from me. If he hadn't banned us from associating in class, I could have been Jon's lab partner. Instead, I was Tyene Sand's, and not only did she outwardly despise me, she also had no problem letting me do all the work and then copying all of my answers. Watching how Jon seemed to get along so well with Sam at their lab table, I couldn't help but think about how many times I'd let Jon copy my homework. Had he just been using me for answers this whole time?

I would have my answer after the bell rang. I was usually one of the last out of the class because, unlike everyone else, I didn't start packing up until after class was over. Jon was waiting for me in the hall. 

“Did you go to the basketball gym today?” he asked me. “My math teacher gave me detention. Forced me to scrape gum off desks during lunch. Why do people still put gum under their desks?”

“Oh.” My cheeks flushed. I felt like such a neurotic fool and then lied, saying “No, I actually had a tutoring session at lunch, so I guess it worked out perfectly.” 

He chuckled and started walking with me in the direction of my next class, even though I was pretty sure his was in the opposite direction. “Well, at least we were both not having any fun.”

“You and Sam seem to be getting along.” 

“Yeah. He's pretty cool. I mean, he's completely uncool, but I think that's kind of cool, you know?”

“Sam's really nice.” It was true. He was really nice. One of the only nice people at Westeros Prep, besides Jon. 

“He told me about this party his brother is throwing. I guess their parents are out of town. Sam's pretty miffed about it all so I thought I'd go and keep him company. I asked if I could bring you along and he said that was fine. What do you say? Want to go have a miserable time with me at Sam's house tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

Jon turned to head to his own class, but I stopped him quickly with a confession. “Jon, wait. I actually told Loras Tyrell I would go to the party with him. Well, not really go with him, because we're going to meet there, but you know what I mean.”

“Loras Tyrell? Isn't he gay?”

“No.”

“I'm pretty sure he's gay, Daenerys.”

With a roll of my eyes, I replied “I've been tutoring him for months. I've known him for years. I think I would know if he was gay or not.”

“Maybe. But maybe you wouldn't, because he's definitely gay.”

“First you're pretty sure he's was gay and now he's definitely gay? Which is it, Jon? And why would he ask me on a date if he's gay?”

“I have no idea. But he's gay.”

“Whatever. Gay or not, I told him I'd go with him, so unfortunately, I'll be a little too busy hanging out with him to be miserable with you and your new friend.”

“Okay?” He looked positively perplexed. Hell, I was perplexed. I had no idea what was going on or how this argument happened. All I knew was that I liked Jon in a way that I had never liked anyone before and it was fucking with my mind. “If you would rather go to the party with Loras, then I think you should.”

I don't want to go to the party with Loras, is what I should have said, because it was the truth, but I suddenly didn't have the courage to speak truth. Instead, I replied “Good” and continued on to class, knowing I would be late to that one as well. 

* * * * *

“I can't believe Sam is married,” I said, more to myself than to Jon. The weather and milkshake was finally cooling my body temperature and I was beginning to feel cold. I pulled my black cardigan from my purse and put it on. “I mean, I'm sure he's a great husband, but it's just so strange to think that there are people we went to school with who are now married.”

“They've got a kid too,” Jon added before plucking a pickle into his mouth. “Sam Jr. He's not Sam's biologically, but he met his wife while she was pregnant and the birth father is a real piece of shit that isn't around anymore. I don't know the whole story, though.”

“Wow.” I stared at my hands, clasped around the milkshake cup, thinking about babies and trying not to notice the sudden twist in my gut. “You said it didn't work out, living with him. Why not?”

He shrugged and if I remembered correctly, he wore an expression that would be best translated as I don't really want to talk about it. Eventually he replied “I do better on my own.”

“Yeah, I guess I do too. I have a roommate. She's really sweet, but I avoid her more often than I'd like to admit. She spends most of her time with her boyfriend anyway.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I would have took the question in a more suggestive way, but when my eyes lifted to Jon, he was pulling another cigarette from his shirt pocket and sliding it into his mouth, his attention focused solely on lighting the thing. Once, six years ago, he had told me “No one wants to kiss someone who smokes. So I make the girls I'm not interested in think I smoke. It just saves everyone a lot of time.” Sitting there with him in front of the In-n-Out, however, I thought I wouldn't mind tasting the tobacco on his lips. 

“No,” I answered. “Do you?”

“Nah. As for a girlfriend, though, I don't have one of those either.” He exhaled a plume of smoke and checked his phone. “I need to get back to work soon. You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What's going on with you?”

My hands had gone numb from the cold of the milkshake cup, but I hardly noticed. “Just living my life. Same as you, I guess.”

Drumming his fingers on the table top just as he had done so on the trunk of that Mazda that one Christmas evening, Jon stayed silent for quite some time. I made no attempt to break that silence, but at the same time, I didn't feel put off by it. It was Jon. When he eventually stood, he didn't put an arm around me and bid me goodnight, but he did ask if we could talk again soon. I wasn't sure what the point was, but I wasn't about to say no. 

“I have weekends off,” he said. “I can pick you up from work on Saturday.”

“Alright.”

With a short nod, Jon sucked on his cigarette and turned back toward the Marketplace.


	3. Chapter 3

It took me three hours to get ready for Dick Tarly's party. A lot of strategy had to go into what look I chose. Not only was I going on a date with one of the most popular boys at school, but I was also going to have to make the most notorious boy at school jealous. I showered and shaved my legs, then blow dried my hair, put in curlers and doused everything in hairspray. After that, I spent the better part of an hour applying enough makeup to make it look like I wasn't wearing any makeup at all. Clothing proved to be the greatest challenge. For most of the people attending this party, this would be their first time seeing me in something other than a plaid skirt and blouse, and they would quickly realize that everything I own was purchased for under thirty bucks. I actually tried on my middle school graduation dress and would have seriously considered wearing it had it actually zipped. Eventually, though, I settled for a blush pink floral-print dress from Forever 21 and four inch ankle boots. I'd look cheap, but at least I'd be wearing something they wouldn't expect. Plus, the pink of the dress matched my lipstick. 

I was regretting coming to this party as soon as I got off the bus. Bus lines didn't typically run through such wealthy suburbs so I had to walk over a mile to get to the Tarly residence. I was half convinced I wouldn't be let in the front door when I arrived. “Who invited the Targaryen bitch?” I imagined someone saying. It would illicit a swell of laughter from my classmates and I'd have to maintain my composure long enough not to cry in front of them. However, when I reached the mini mansion that smelled like a bonfire and echoed Top 40's music, the front door was wide open and tipsy teenagers were filtering in and out of it as they pleased. 

The first thing I wanted to do was find Jon, but I forced myself to focus my sights on Loras. It was tough to recognize most of these people. I was so used to seeing them all in their school slacks, skirts, and monogrammed blazers. Now, they were all in their finest – and/or sluttiest – casual wear. 

“Dany, there you are!” someone called from the middle of a crowd by the front staircase. I followed the sound and was quickly met with my date's blue eyes and gold hair bouncing up to me. “You look super cute. Who made that dress?”

“Sweat shop workers in urban Los Angeles, according to the protesters outside the store. I'm not proud of myself,” I answered. 

Loras laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and I wondered how much he'd already had to drink, though I didn't smell any alcohol on him. “Let's go outside,” he suggested, putting his arm around my back and leading me through the lively crowd that took over the entire first floor of the house. We made a stop in the kitchen first and Loras poured liquor into a red cup, handed it to me, then continued to guide me toward the backyard. 

With the amount of people inside added to the amount outside, I figured half the school was at this party. The fire pit on the patio was lit and about fifteen teens sat around it chatting and making out. The pool was designed to look like a jungle pond surrounded by heavy stones and thin trees. Girls in their underwear sat in the shallow end watching a handful of guys compete in a breath-holding contest. At least ten people had squeezed into the hot tub and I was fairly certain a couple of them were naked. Some kids I recognized as classmates had already given me sideways glances. I wanted to leave. Jon probably wasn't even at the party. If he was here, he was with Sam, probably upstairs in a game room playing Halo or whatever.

“Actually, do you know where the bathroom is?” 

Loras had been scanning the crowd, but then looked down at me with indifference. “The bathroom? Um, yeah, it's inside somewhere.”

With a sigh, I told him I'd be right back, though I had no intention of that. As I weaved my way back through the house, aiming for the front door, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. Black hair and pale skin. Leaning against the dining room wall, stood Jon, a Heineken in one hand while his other stayed in the pocket of his black jeans. I wanted to smile at how like-me he looked. Not that he too was wearing a pink dress, but his jeans were somewhat worn, his shirt was thin and stretched and he wore the same old green converse he did everyday to school, despite it being out of uniform. I had gotten to see Jon's tattoo close up numerous times, but this was the first time I'd seen him in short sleeves, which made the red-leaf tree on his forearm look like it belonged there. 

Sam was next to him in clothes more suited for a family dinner, but rich or not, Sam was as unused to parties as I was and his nervous expression showed it. Two girls stood in front of them, smiling and giggling, eyes glimmering at Jon with interest, and I suddenly felt like I hadn't eaten in two weeks, lightheaded and sweaty. As soon as Jon's head turned toward me, I turned mine away, eyes planning out a quick escape route. Before I could take three steps, though, Jon was coming up beside me. 

“Daenerys,” he said, and for the first time, it annoyed me. “When did you get here?”

“I was just going to leave,” I replied.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, that's alright. You're busy.” 

Jon glanced behind him quickly. “I'm sure Sam won't mind.”

I shook my head, but before any words could leave my mouth, Loras was coming up to me as well. 

“Dany,” he said, putting his hand on my arm and standing close. “Did you find the bathroom okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

And then I heard Jon's voice again. “Loras, I don't think we've met. I'm Jon.”

Loras was visibly taken aback by Jon's introduction, and so was I. As far as I knew, Jon had never intentionally met anyone at our school. He met me because we had sat next to each other in Chemistry for a few weeks and he met Sam because they were lab partners. 

“Hi,” Loras said, shaking Jon's hand with some reluctance. The two looked at each other and whatever sort of silent conversation was happening between them, I didn't like it. When Loras looked back at me and asked “Can you come with me?” I agreed and could feel Jon's eyes staring at my back as Loras lead me back toward the backyard. 

This time, however, we didn't actually leave the house. Loras stopped us near the backdoor, rested his hands on my shoulders and walked me backward until I hit a wall. We were close enough to the kitchen that I could smell the beer and liquor like it was being pumped through the air ducts.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” Loras said and he was standing close to me again. 

“Thank you.” It was all I could think of to say. I wasn't sure at what point Loras decided he liked me. He always seemed so bored when I tutored him, and he had never really looked at me until he asked me to this party. The only thing I knew for sure about Loras, was that he wanted to kiss me and some part of me wanted to kiss him too. He wasn't Jon, but he was someone. And he thought I was beautiful so why not? Jon had never called me beautiful. 

I didn't think anything of it when Loras took another thorough glance around the room. I was too busy trying to replay movie kiss scenes in my head. Yes, I had been kissed before, but it was Kindergarten and somehow I felt like it didn't really count. But then his mouth was on mine and my mind just turned off. The pop hits faded into the distance and everyone around us seemed farther and farther away. My hand was still holding the red plastic cup and my other stayed at my side. It wasn't a passionate kiss. I wasn't sure if it was even a good kiss, but it was a kiss and it seemed to last forever until Loras was being pulled away from me. 

My first thought was of Jon, that maybe he had gotten so jealous watching us that he was going to fight Loras for me. But the man who was arguing with my date was tall and his dark hair was cut short.

“We have one fucking fight and you decide to hook up with the Targaryen bitch?!” the young man shouted. There it was. The Targaryen bitch. It hadn't gone exactly the way I had imagined it would, but the crowd laughed all the same. My chest felt as hollow as my stomach and my skin felt like it was on fire. The argument in front of me was cutting in and out like a poor radio station and all I heard was Loras's voice shouting “Now you know what if feels like when. . .” and “If you would just stop denying who you are. . .”

When a hand landed on the back of my shoulder, I thought I would break into a million pieces. Right up close to my ear, Jon's voice whispered “Come with me.”

In that moment, I would have let Satan himself lead me into the pits of hell if it would get me away from Loras and his boyfriend and all the people who couldn't stop laughing. Jon's hand was clutching mine as he walked ahead of me, clearing a path through all the people, and next thing I knew, we were ascending the front stair case. Jon tried a few door handles that turned out to be locked before finding one that wasn't and pulled me inside. 

“I'm so stupid,” I muttered, then brought my red cup to my lips and drank until there was nothing left inside. I gagged and coughed but the liquid tingled as it went down my throat. 

“You're not stupid,” Jon insisted, taking the cup from my hand and setting it aside. “You're one of the smartest people I've ever met. However, you are the only person in the whole school who didn't know Loras Tyrell was gay.”

Bringing my hands to my face, I laughed into my palms so that I wouldn't cry. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

“You want to make it up to me?”

I slowly dropped my hands and looked at Jon with a frown. I suddenly became aware of how small the room was that we were in compared to the great room downstairs. It was an office with no closet and one window. A large desk stood against one wall and a leather love seat stood against the opposite wall. The door was shut behind us and we were alone, the only light coming from a dim floor lamp in one corner of the room. Jon moved a hand around to his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, then handed it to me.

“I can't figure out what I did wrong,” he said with a small smile. 

Taking the paper in my hands, I saw that it was a Sudoku puzzle, one edge frayed like it had been ripped out of a book. I let out a breathy laugh. Every time I thought Jon was going to do one thing, he did the other and I wondered if I would ever stop being wrong about him. I took a pen from the cup on the desk and sat down on the love seat. Jon sat beside me, our legs almost touching. It took me a couple minutes. I had crossed out a few of Jon's answers and replaced them, and soon the puzzle was complete. 

“You could have had Sam help you with it,” I said as I handed it back to him. 

He examined the corrections and replied “I didn't want Sam to help me with it. I wanted you to help me with it.”

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, I slumped back against the love seat. Without the Sudoku to occupy my brain, I was forced to process the mess I had found myself in downstairs, forced to accept that I had been acting like an idiot for the past week.

“Sam told me about what your dad did,” Jon said, breaking the silence with something else I didn't want to think about. “Why would you choose to go to a school full of kids who's parents were ripped off by your father?”

“Because it's the school that's going to get me into Harvard and all the other schools I'm applying to, and then I'll get to choose my own destiny. I'll be able to do anything I want and be whoever I want.”

“What's wrong with who you are now?”

I shrugged, fingers playing with a loose thread at the bottom of my dress. “I'm alright, I guess. I have anxiety, though. And I lack confidence.”

“Same with me.”

“I really want you to drive me home, but I don't want you to see where I live.”

“I wouldn't judge you.”

“I know that.”

“I wouldn't want anyone to see where I used to live either. Even the kids at my old school would probably feel bad for me.”

Smiling just a bit, I asked “Can we just stay here for a little while?” 

Jon answered by putting his arm around me and I leaned into his side, finding comfort in the gentle scent of Old Spice and teenage boy.

* * * * *

I was still taking my meds religiously after three years, but Jon popping back into my life was adding salt to my wounds and bringing back memories I've tried hard to suppress. And still, I waited for Saturday on bated breath, longing for just one more chance to be in his company. Every moment before Jon pulled up in front of Martell's, I wondered if there was anything I could say that would somehow change the past, that we could just start over. Or maybe he'd decided he didn't care about any of that anymore. I knew that I could find a way not to care either.

“Are you hungry?” was the first thing Jon said to me when I pulled myself into the passenger seat. His Jeep was old and rumbling and the vanilla air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror wasn't strong enough to mask the intense tobacco smell.

“I'm fine.”

“You haven't eaten, so we should get some food.”

We drove to the pier, just a mile from my apartment so if anything went terribly wrong, it wouldn't be much trouble to just walk home. There was a Mexican taco truck in the parking lot and Jon bought me two carne asada tacos after I tried and failed to pay for them myself. I was more grateful than I let on, though, because I was starving and finished both tacos before we reached the end of the pier. The benches were covered in gull poop so we stood at the railing instead. It was better that way, I thought. I could look over the edge and watch the water rush past the wood pillars beneath us and the sound would keep me centered. 

The first words Jon spoke since thanking the food truck employee for the tacos were “I have a confession to make.” 

I turned my head, but my eyes stopped on his arms that rested on the wood railing. He wasn't in his Whole Foods uniform but he still wore long sleeves that I wished he'd roll up so I could get a better look at the tree on his forearm, and maybe catch a glimpse of the unfamiliar tattoos too. His fingers were laced together and fidgety. He was trying not to smoke. 

“I knew you lived here,” he continued. “I'm not stalking you or anything. I moved here because Sam was here and I needed a place to stay for a bit, but when I moved out of his place, I decided to stay in the city when I found out you were here too. I didn't know you worked at Martell's until after I started at Whole Foods, but I guess it's been a few months now that I've known. I kept thinking that one day I would go up and talk to you, but. . . I didn't know what I would say, or if you'd even want to see me again.”

“And then I ran into you where you work.”

“Yeah.” He smiled a bit out at the horizon. “The way you told me your schedule, I thought. . .”

“I did want to see you,” I assured. “I didn't really know what to say to you either, though. I had no idea you were here. For all I knew you were still overseas somewhere.”

“Nah, I'm done with that.”

“Good,” I whispered against the wind, but shook my head at myself immediately after. “I'm just glad you're okay. I always hated that you had to go put yourself in danger just to get away from me.”

My eyes lifted to his face, wanting him to look into them and tell me he was done running. Instead, his gaze remained on the sea and replied “I needed to get away from everyone. Not just you.” He relented to his habit, pulled a pack from his pocket and slid a cigarette between his lips. His hand shook as he lit the end and closed his eyes on the first inhale like it was Albuterol for an asthmatic. “It wasn't just you. I had to get away from everyone. It was just too much to handle. The way I felt about you. . .”

“You hated me,” I mumbled.

“No.” He turned to face me finally, but now I couldn't face him. “I loved you, despite everything, but that was the problem. I was afraid.”

“We didn't have to change. We could have stayed the same.”

“You know that would have been impossible. I needed to leave to --”

“Don't tell me what I know, Jon. You left because you didn't want to be with me. That's what it all comes down to. But, you know, that was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore.”

Of course, that was a lie. It did matter and I wanted nothing more that to climb over the rail and drop down into the dark water. But maybe this was good. Maybe this was what I needed. This was closure, right? And now I could finally start to get over him. Right?

Jon fell silent again, leaned his arms again on the rail and resumed his cigarette. “I just wanted to hear from you that you're doing okay, that you're happy. But you're not in school and you're stocking dog food for a living. I don't understand. Was it my fault?”

“No. It had nothing to do with you. I just. . . dropped out. I couldn't do it.”

“That's bullshit. If anyone could do it, you could do it. Something had to have happened.”

“Maybe you just don't know me as well as you seem to think you do.” 

That, of course, was a lie as well. Jon knew me better anyone, and even after six years, I didn't doubt that. Something had happened. 

He wasn't going to let me slide either. “I know you're not a quitter, Daenerys, and you're not going to be able to convince me otherwise.”

I wasn't a quitter, and I wasn't about to quit my fight either. “What do you want me to say? This is my life. You could have been part of it, but you walked out. And now you act like I owe you some sort of explanation for why my life sucks. Well, I'm sorry that I'm not married with children like Sam. I'm sorry I work a minimum wage job that barely pays for my half of the rent and I have no fucking idea what my next move will be. Maybe I'm just not meant to have anything that I want.”

“That's not true.”

“It seems pretty true.”

Jon walked off and discarded his cigarette in the ashtray lid of a publish trash can. I stayed where I was and when he returned, his hands were resting in the pockets of his jeans. “You don't owe me anything,” he said. “Your life is none of my business. I just want you to be happy.”

Trying hard to relax, I shut my eyes and counted to ten.

* * * * *

The Monday after the party, I thought everyone would be talking about how the Targaryen bitch ended up in the middle of a gay lovers quarrel, but that wasn't what I heard being mumbled under the breaths of those I walked past in the halls. 

“Jon Snow,” they were saying. “They went upstairs together. You know what that means. Yeah, Jon Snow – Robb Stark's cousin, and that Targaryen bitch.”

“Grany!” A familiar voice called out to me as I crossed the campus at lunch. My eyes rolled to where Tyene Sand stood by the benches with a few other girls all wearing the same smirk, glaring their cat eyes at me like I was prey. Tyene and her friends had called me Grany since I started at Westeros Prep on account of my white hair. At least it wasn't quite as abusive as 'the Targaryen bitch.' “Heard you and the off-brand Stark had quite a time together at Tarly's party last weekend,” she exclaimed. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I replied flatly. 

“Come on, Grany, don't play dumb. What's your motive? You think he's getting some of that Stark money? Because word around town is that his mom was a straight up junkie. Got knocked up by some pimp, raised her kid in a crack house, and shot her inheritance up her arm til she croaked.”

A Freshman beside her added “I heard Ned Stark forced her to change her name so that she wouldn't tarnish the family's reputation. And Snow came from the shit she liked to snort up her nose.”

I knew that the Freshman was wrong at least. Jon's mom was named Stark until her death, but Snow did come from his mother's unwillingness to pass the family name down to her child. I didn't say any of this, though, because even if they weren't secrets, what Jon told me in private was none of their business. Also, I feared that if I discounted only some of the rumors, they would assume that to be a confirmation of the others. 

“Too bad you couldn't nail down Robb Stark before he graduated,” Tyene continued. “Aerys Targaryen would have been so proud to see his daughter take the golden son away from the Starks. The Starks have always hated the Targaryens, haven't they?”

“Everyone hates the Targaryens,” the Freshman answered. 

“You people are so stupid,” spoke Yara Greyjoy, a Senior from my History class, as she was walking by. “The Targaryens are all dead, except for this one and the second son. They've got all that money split between the two of them and it's more than the Starks will ever have. The only person getting screwed is Dany. Apparently figuratively and literally.”

Suddenly, the string keeping me together broke and I let loose. “Are you all fucking serious?! Nothing happened between me and Jon! And there is no money! The money is gone! If any of it still exists, I certainly don't have it! I never stole anything from anyone and I never even met my father. I work at the outlet mall and live above a Seven-Eleven and I'm one of only a handful of kids at this miserable school who isn't just here because they can afford it, because I can't afford anything!”

My outburst was met with a chorus of laughter and I marched off while Tyene muttered something about all Targaryens being pathological liars.

Most days, the best part of my day was getting to spend lunch period with Jon, and that day was no different. I dropped down on my butt and leaned back against the gym's back door. “I fucking hate this school,” I muttered. 

“Me too,” Jon replied, closing the novel he was reading and setting it aside. “Let's drop out and travel the country together selling magazine subscriptions door to door.”

He always knew how to make me smile. “As great as that sounds, I can't drop out. And I'm a terrible salesman.” 

“Are you mad at me because I took you upstairs and started all of this?”

“You're about the only person I'm not mad at,” I replied, then sighed. “Can I ask you something? Do the Starks really hate the Targaryens?”

For a moment his eyebrows furrowed, then his head shook. “I don't care who the Starks like or hate. I only care about who I like or hate, and I like you.”

I had never viewed myself as a catch, due to my general lack of self esteem, but I still didn't doubt his words. Ever since he threw that pen at me, Jon made me feel like the most interesting person in the world. It started with my name, like it was more than just a name. He always marveled at how quickly I could solve math problems and how I had the periodic table memorized and could name every capital of every country. Hell, he was impressed that I could name every country. When talking about college, he would begin each question with “When you get into Harvard” never “If you get into Harvard.” I think he intentionally picked Sudoku puzzles that were above his skill level just so he could watch me finish them for him. When I was with Jon, I felt like I could do anything, because he actually believed I could do anything, and he was more than happy to sit back and watch me. I knew he liked me. It took me until after the party to add it all up, but I finally knew. But I didn't know if he liked me the way I liked him. 

Sitting upright and folding my arms in my lap, I asked “Can I ask you another question?” This time, I waited for him to nod before going ahead. “When you say that you like me. . . What exactly do you mean? Like, do you like me how you like Sam, or. . ?”

He swished his head from side to side, humming under his breath like he was trying to decide where to eat dinner. Then he smiled and said “I like you how I like you.”

Cheeks flushed, I shook my head and tried not to smile. “You're so difficult sometimes,” I told him and he responded by grinning wider, showing me his teeth before leaning in close to me. The moment I realized what was happening, his fingers grazed my jawline and I followed his touch until our lips were pressed together.

When we parted, his hand moved to rest against my neck and I reached my fingers out to fiddle with one of the buttons running down the middle of his shirt. The kiss wasn't “electrifying” or “magical” or one of the other adjectives romance novels might describe a first kiss with someone special as. It was better than that because it wasn't those things. It was comfortable. It was right. Like I should have been kissing him my whole life. And I wasn't nervous at all, during or after. 

“You kiss way better than Loras,” I whispered. 

“It probably helps that I'm kissing you because I want to, and not because I'm trying to make a dude jealous.”

I smiled and gave Jon's shirt button a gentle pull until his lips were back on mine, where they belonged.

* * * * *

The Ocean breeze was picking up, causing my hair to blow behind me. When my eyes opened, I cast them downward at Jon's familiar shoes – too clean to be the same pair from high school, but I found comfort in the homage to a better time. I wrapped my arms around myself, and then the words came out of me like air. “During my sophomore year at Caltech, I started sleeping with one of my professors.” 

I wasn't even sure if Jon had heard me. I looked up and his eyes were back on the water, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. 

“How did it end?” he eventually asked. 

“About as badly as you could imagine. People found out. He quit. I never saw him again.”

“I'm sure it wasn't your fault.”

“I know it wasn't, but that doesn't change that it happened, and how much pain it caused.” I shuddered out a breath, but the cold air kept my tears at bay. “I meant to just take a year off to get my shit together, but one year turned to two years and then I just gave up and started looking for jobs outside Pasadena. I started at an Office Depot in Hawthorne before getting the Martell's gig. Thankfully someone working there was looking for a roommate, because I wouldn't have been able to afford a place on my own here while only working part-time.”

“You loved him.”

After a moments pause, I answered “No. Maybe for a second I thought I could, but when all was said and done, he really didn't mean very much to me.” 

Jon looked down at me with some confusion. I was digging myself into a hole that could only end with me telling him the full truth, and despite my nerves, I was doing it on purpose, because I wanted Jon to know. 

“When I found out I was pregnant, though, it didn't matter who the father was. I thought that having a baby on my own, let alone while in school, would be the hardest thing I'd ever do, but I was going to do it anyway, because you're right. I don't quit. I dragged my fat, pregnant ass all over campus, never missing a class, never letting anyone tell me that I couldn't do both. Looking back, I don't know if I was ready to be a mother. Maybe I was just being selfish. Wanting to bring someone into the world who couldn't leave me like everyone else.”

The cold turned out to be no match for my emotions and when the first tear slid down my cheek, I turned away, leaning my back against the railing. I felt Jon step close to me, his body becoming a shield from the breeze. 

I continued after a long breath. “I told you I still wasn't driving, but the truth is that I got my license after graduation and bought a car with my financial aid money not long after starting at Caltech. The last time I ever drove, though, was the day I lost control in the rain and smashed into a light post along the highway. I had been just a couple weeks from my due date and as soon as I got to the ER they did an ultrasound, and just like that, I wasn't going to be a mother after all. After inducing labor, I gave birth to my dead son, and when the nurses asked if I wanted to hold him and say goodbye, I didn't see the point. I couldn't even look at him. Suddenly, the world just seemed so small and insignificant and nothing was important, especially not me. Almost four years later, here I am.”

Jon's hand flattened on my spine and I lifted my shirt collar up my face to wipe the wetness from my eyes and cheeks and under my nose. Before I knew it, I was following the scent of vanilla and tobacco until my forehead was against Jon's shoulder and his arms were wrapped tight around me. I splayed my hand in the center of his chest to feel his heart beating fast and irregular and tried to focus my mind on that instead of that day in the hospital, screaming at nurses to just leave me alone. Ever since I was a little girl I thought I was destined to be alone. I had lost everyone and then I lost Jon too, then my child, and myself. 

Smokey breath warmed my head and lips pressed down on my hair. After a while, I became too afraid to let go of him less he disappear with my truth and leave me to recover on my own. I wasn't sure if I could do it on my own anymore. But Jon never tried to let me go. Others on the pier were probably looking at us, thinking we must be in love. I could live without Jon's love, but now I wasn't sure if I could live without Jon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so I just realized that this chapter is a lot longer than the other chapters. I considered splitting it into two separate chapters, but I decided that it would have interrupted the flow too much. Hopefully y'all are cool with this extra long update. Sorry in advance!

The first time Jon and I kissed, we didn't stop for thirty minutes, and when the bell rang, we walked to Chemistry together with silly smiles on our faces. We had made a nonverbal agreement not to kiss in front of our classmates, though. Our relationship wasn't for public scrutiny. It was for us. 

We were calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the week. 

I fell in love with Jon almost immediately after that, or maybe I had already been in love with him and just hadn't realized it. I had always thought falling in love was supposed to happen over a long period of time and that loving someone so passionately so quickly meant that the relationship was doomed. Maybe I had been right, but when I was with Jon, kissing him, touching him, laughing with him, I thought that we would last forever. I would never have another boyfriend. I would go to school and he would follow me, we would get an apartment together and watch each other grow as people, we would get married after my graduation, buy a small house on a large piece of land and have two kids by the time I turned thirty. I would be a wildlife biologist and he would teach modern literature. I planned it all out in my head during our first couple of months as a couple, and sometimes, I would interrupt our lunch time make-out sessions to add a new detail to our fifteen year plan.

“Goats,” I said once against his mouth, to which he made such a profoundly confused face and I couldn't help but laugh at. I had been sitting across his lap and I could feel his hard on against my leg, so I figured it was time to get his mind on something other than what making out could sometimes lead to. “What do you think of goats? I've always wanted them.”

“Well. . .” Jon began, scrunching his eyebrows, mulling the question over. “I can honestly say I've never met a goat I didn't like.”

“I want goats. At least two, so they aren't lonely.”

“That makes sense,” Jon replied with a nod. “What about a dog? I've always wanted a dog. A big dog.”

“I like dogs. Can we also get an iguana? I kind of have a thing for reptiles.”

Another nod while he twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. “I'm glad you told me. It's good that we get our fetishes out in the open now before we get too deep into this relationship.”

I laughed so abruptly that I snorted and buried my face into the curve of Jon's neck. 

“I'm not really a lizard man myself,” he continued in an analytical sort of voice. “However, I did used to have a thing for Nala from the Lion King.”

“Please, stop,” I choked out through my fit of laughter. I leaned away from him, flopping onto my back on the pavement and splaying my hands over my chest. “I'm going to have a heart attack.”

Turning onto his knees, Jon leaned over me and kissed the backs of my hands. My giggles subsiding, I moved one hand to his cheek and brought his mouth to mine. When the bell rang and our lips parted, I realized what a compromising position we had been in, with me on my back and Jon above me, his tongue in my mouth and his knee on the concrete between my parted legs. We hadn't yet done anything more than make out and feel each other over our clothes, but in that moment I wished we were in a bed somewhere rather than behind the basketball gym at school. 

While we walked to Chemistry, Jon bumped my shoulder with his arm and asked “Do you think we could teach the iguana to ride on the dog's back? Because that would be worth it right there.”

Tapping a finger against my chin, I replied “I think we could figure it out.”

Just a week later, university acceptance letters began to filter into the mailboxes of every student at Westeros Prep. All except one. It had made sense to me that Jon would go to college because I knew how intelligent he was. I could see him hanging out on a state school campus, lounging against a thick tree trunk, reading Of Mice and Men between classes, but Jon hadn't applied anywhere, and had made no indication that he was planning on applying in the future. 

The only time he ever mentioned college was in reference to my own pursuits. When he saw a college fair had popped up in the quad one day, Jon made us go during our lunch period and as we fluttered from booth to booth, from Georgetown to Duke, from Columbia to USC, from Brown to Stanford, and so on and so on, he had made a passing comment I should have paid more attention to:

“The only booth that was ever set up at my old school was for the military, and it was there everyday. Actually, the Army recruitment office was just across the street from campus, between a Pizza Hut and the Metro PCS store.”

I recall those words often, wondering how long Jon had been considering joining the Army without telling me. For a long time after finding out Jon had decided to enlist, I was sick to my stomach with worry and guilt, so it made me feel better to think that it was always something he was interested in, that maybe being in the military would give him something I couldn't, that somehow, ironically, it would bring him peace.

* * * * *

While Jon drove me home from the pier that Saturday, I watched his fingers dance absentmindedly across the back of my hand over the center console. When he pulled up in front of my building, I hesitated, wanting to invite him inside, but after a few moments silence, I unbuckled and climbed out of the car. Before I shut the car door, Jon leaned over he console and asked “Can I come see you again soon?” 

I told him he could, then went inside, noticing through the glass front doors of the complex that Jon's Jeep remained parked out front until I was inside my apartment. 

The next day, I had assumed optimistically that Jon would be waiting for me again when I got off my shift, but that wasn't the case. I worried that he'd changed his mind, that, after fully processing what all I confessed to him on the pier, he decided I was too damaged now. 

But, Monday evening, there was a knock on my apartment door.

I was watching a Shark Tank marathon and eating Ben & Jerry's out of the pint tub – that and the two-liter of Diet Coke on the floor beside the sofa was my dinner. I really should have spent the day searching for another part-time job so that I could start making enough money to achieve my new life dream of being able to afford my own apartment, one with a dishwasher, but the overwhelming feeling of utter hopelessness kept me watching reality TV since waking up.

“Missi! Your B.F. is here!” I called out, knowing she and her boyfriend had a date that night, because she had been in the bathroom for almost two hours getting ready. 

She rushed through the living room with only one shoe on, muttering something about how she thought they were meeting at the restaurant. I kept my eyes on the TV, but when Missandei opened our front door, it wasn't her boyfriend's voice I heard, it was Jon's. 

“Hi, is Daenerys here?”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I looked to the door, but all I could see was Missandei's slender back and part of the mostly-opened front door. Then she twisted around and shot me a suspicious look. 

“Daenerys,” she said with an inflection, because she'd never heard anyone use my full name before, “the door's for you.”

Moving quicker than I had all day, I stood and ran into the kitchen, throwing my ice cream back into the freezer and splashing water from the sink on my face. It occurred to me that I was in my pajamas, but thankfully they also happened to double as normal, though very casual day clothes – yoga pants and a somewhat over-sized Los Angeles Rams t-shirt. Missandei side eyed me as she sauntered back to the bathroom and I shuffled to the door while tying my hair back as neatly as I could. 

“Hey,” Jon said. 

With nervous surprise, I told him to come in and he did. As I moved around him to close the door I noticed he smelled more like deodorant than cigarettes. He was also holding a plastic bag. 

“I'm sorry for just stopping by. We never exchanged numbers.”

“That's okay. It's the same number I had in high school, though. But, I guess you probably don't still have it in your phone.”

He shook his head. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not unless you count me sitting on my ass in my pajamas watching Shark Tank as a bad time.”

With a small smile, Jon said “You didn't used to like football.”

I glanced down at my shirt, then shrugged “I watch a few games here and there. Do you want to sit?” I crossed the room and picked up the remote where I had dropped it and flicked off the television. Missandei and I didn't have much in the way of furniture. Just a deep green sofa, IKEA coffee table and our 34 inch TV that rested on a solid wood bookshelf turned on it's side. Missandei stored her vinyls between the vertical slats. Most of our things sat in piles on the floor. Stacks of books, stacks of blankets, stacks of towels. Our living room almost always looked like we were preparing for a yard sale.

Sitting together on the couch, Jon set his plastic bag in the space left between us. 

“Don't you have work tonight?” I asked.

“I actually got off earlier today. Switched shifts with someone. I wanted to give this to you. I know it's lame, but I thought I should see if you wanted it back.”

With a hesitant smile, I put my hand in the bag and removed from it something soft and familiar. Though somewhat faded from lots of wearing and washing, it looked as good as I remembered and smelled even better, because it smelled like Jon. A crimson sweatshirt with HARVARD printed across the chest. I smiled down at it as wide as I did the first time Jon gave it to me. 

“You kept it?” I asked. 

“Ever since the day you threw it at my head and told me to eat shit and die.”

As he smiled, I frowned. “Did I really say that?”

“It was the last thing you ever said to me actually.”

I hadn't forgotten, but I had hoped Jon had. Looking down at the big white letters, I said “I wore this thing everyday when I wasn't at school or work, you know.”

“I know.”

“I kept wearing it even after Harvard rejected me. I had this idea that I would wear it on my first day at Caltech. It was going to be hilarious and I would have made absolutely no friends.”

“I know.”

Scooting to the edge of the sofa, I straightened my back and pulled the sweatshirt on over my head and down my body. The end of my t-shirt stuck out the bottom awkwardly, but it fit. 

When Missandei came out again, all dolled up and ready for her date, she eyed the word across my chest and said “I thought you went to Caltech.” 

“Harvard looks better on her,” Jon answered for me and the peculiar complement made me blush nonetheless. 

“Alright,” said Missandei, giving me another one of those suspicious looks that meant have fun but be careful. I had never told my roommate about Jon, even though she was the closest thing to a best friend I've had since Jon. It was sad to think of how little she really knew about me, and that it was completely my fault. Once, while we were both tipsy off cheap gin, I told her about my pregnancy as a test, seeing how far I could open up to another human being before I'd start to panic, but that was as far as it went. She asked if I'd had an abortion and I answered by pouring myself another drink and changing the subject to workplace gossip. Once again, Jon knew more about me than anyone else in my life. 

I gave awkward introductions – “Missi, this is Jon. Jon, this is Missi.” – and she was out the door a minute later, saying she may not be home until morning. 

Alone with Jon now, my apartment never seemed so quiet. To quickly break the tension, I asked him once more about his face. 

“Your scars. What happened?” I asked. 

“It's kind of a long story.”

“Well, Missi did say she may not be back til tomorrow.”

That got him to smile a bit before going into it. “I guess it really isn't that long of a story. I served for four years, came back and didn't know what the hell to do with myself, so I reenlisted. Eight months into my tour there was an ambush and --” He finished the story by holding up his fist and popping out his fingers as he made a dull explosion sound with his mouth. “A month in a hospital later and I was discharged.”

I could tell there was a lot more to the story by the way Jon's soft eyes squinted and his body relax in a defeated sort of way against the back of the couch. I could feel him shutting down, just enough to keep the memories from taking over his mind. This look wasn't unfamiliar to me. He had the same sort of look whenever he spoke about his mother. It was the same look he had the day he brought me to the neighborhood he grew up in.

* * * * *

When Jon turned eighteen, it was a Saturday. I would have taken the day off to be with him, but he told me his family had planned a whole day of “fun” for him and that I should take Sunday off instead. I thought that I should have planned something for him as well, but it seemed like he already had something in mind. He picked me up Sunday morning in front of the Seven-Eleven and drove about ten miles South until we were in a neighborhood that made mine look like Pleasantville. 

“This is where you wanted to go for your birthday?” I asked as he parallel parked next to a boarded up, dilapidated apartment building. 

“I don't really care about my birthday. I just wanted to take you here, and since you took the day off. . .”

“You wanted to take me here?”

After he got out of the car, he went around and opened the passenger door for me, like it was a real date. It was an unusually chilly morning for April and I kept my hands inside the front pouch of my Harvard sweatshirt. Jon put his arm around my shoulders and pointed up to the third floor of the crusty brick building. 

“You see that window, the one on the far left side, third floor?”

“Yeah.”

“That's where my mom died. Inside that room.”

Moving my eyes from the boarded window to Jon's profile, I tried to read his expression, but it was one I couldn't dissect. He didn't look especially sad, though he certainly didn't look happy. His features were soft and unaffected, but his lips were pursed like he was contemplating something, a message written on the wall that only he could see. 

We hadn't discussed Jon's mother much. All I knew about her was the probably-false rumors our classmates would mumble to each other when I was within earshot. I never pressed Jon for the truth because it would have been hypocritical of me, since I never wanted to talk about my family either. 

“How did she die?” I asked gently, trying to make the question come off in a way that Jon would know he didn't have to answer. 

Jon took a few easy breaths and rubbed my arm where his hand rested. It gave Jon comfort to give me comfort. “Drugs. But, I'm sure you already knew about that.”

“I didn't know if it was true or not.”

“Unfortunately, a lot of what people say at school is true. The rest, well, I don't even know enough about my life to dispute the rest. She wasn't always a junkie, though. She was actually a really great mom for a long time, but she always had this very intense, penetrative sadness that seemed to consume her little by little each day. Living where we lived didn't help. Everyone was on something and by the time I reached middle school, she was as good as gone. The rest was just watching and waiting until one day she never came home. She'd gone missing before, but only for a few days at a time. After two weeks, I just assumed she died. When the cops showed up at the front door and told me what they'd found when they raided this building, I couldn't even cry, because I'd already accepted it.”

“I'm sorry, Jon.”

He shook his head and looked at me. “I just wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to see who I am.”

“That's not who you are, though. That's who your mom was. You're not her.”

“Sometimes I feel like a traitor. I'm basically being taken care of by Ned Stark, but when my mom needed help, he wasn't there. But, I actually like Ned. He's almost always working, but when he's not, he's a really nice person – annoyingly nice sometimes. I don't understand what sort of dispute he could have had with my mom before I was born to make them hate each other so much. I tried asking a little while ago, but he's even less comfortable talking about my mom than I am.” 

I took my hands out of my sweatshirt and hugged Jon against me. “You're not a traitor. Some families are just too fucked up to ever understand.”

Hugging me back, he laid his cheek against the side of my head and said “One day, I want to have a totally un-fucked up family.”

“Me too,” I replied. 

That was when Jon told me he loved me for the first time, but he told me as a question. “Do you already know that I love you?”

I lifted my head and answered “I had a feeling. You already know that I love you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. You're not very subtle.” 

I smiled, but it was hard to be happy in a place like that. A car alarm went off in the near distance and a cat fight had broken out in front of a rotting cottage across the street. The sound of rickety shopping cart wheels grew ever louder as a homeless man limped down the street in our direction.

“Where did you live?” I asked. It couldn't possibly have been here. 

Thankfully, we got back into the Mazda, but we didn't travel far. Jon turned onto the highway, drove North a couple blocks, then pulled into the parking lot of a laundromat. I followed suit when Jon exited the car once again, and I followed him across the parking lot until we stood on the sidewalk facing the highway. Sunday traffic was light, but still noisy, so when Jon spoke I had to stand almost against him to hear.

“Across the street,” He pointed in front of us, to a huge building, right up against the highway, tall and beige and rowed with small plaster balconies, clothes and towels draped over the edge of half of them. On the bottom floor, graffiti decorated the chipped paint and the windows were all barred. While it was certainly a step up from the abandoned drug-den Jon had just shown me, the building was depressing at best.

“We lived someplace nicer when I was young,” Jon continued. “I mean, it still wasn't a great area, but it was a little house with a front yard and there were kids my age who I could play with. We moved here when I was nine, after my mom lost her secretary job.”

I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “A few foster families I stayed with lived in buildings a lot like this one, but I never stayed long.”

“It's weird that we met where we did. In some fancy douche-bag school. I guess I'm just lucky you're freaky smart and my uncle is freaky rich.” His eyes were still on the building, his palm damp against mine. “I'm not going to say I'm lucky my mom died when she did, but at least something good came out of it.”

“Hey.” I gave his arm a gentle tug to get him to look at me. I had no idea how to respond to that, so instead, I said “Let's go someplace happy, alright? For your birthday.”

“Yeah.” Finally, the corners of his mouth lifted. “Can we go to your apartment?” 

I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and nodded. That was exactly what I had in mind. 

* * * * *

Slowly, I raised a finger to where the longest scar started on his forehead and felt the slight crease of skin. Incredulously, I asked “You spent a month in the hospital for these?”

Heaving a drawn out sigh, Jon began unbuttoning his shirt. My pulse raced, but any excitement I felt for getting to see Jon's body again was quickly replaced by anxious fear. I couldn't prevent my gasp, and I felt tears prickle at my eyelids as soon as my eyes beheld the long, jagged scars that covered Jon's torso, one of which being right where I had placed my hand in the middle of his chest on the pier, right over his heart.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, unable to look away. I had to cover my eyes with the palm of my hand when I felt about ready to throw up. “I shouldn't have let you go,” I whimpered. “I knew something bad was going to happen. I knew you were going to get hurt.”

“You knew you couldn't stop me. And I'm fine now.”

After a hard swallow, I let my hand drop, taking in the sight again with a bit more composure. “Does it hurt?” I asked, reaching out tentatively and touching the discolored scar running down the center of his chest with my fingertips. 

“Not anymore.”

“You almost died, didn't you?”

His hand raised to my face and I felt his thumb stroking the water that had spilled from my eyes. “Don't cry,” he whispered, leaning toward me. “I'm not dead.”

Slowly, but without caution, I leaned forward to rest my cheek against his. His arms went around my waist and mine draped around his shoulders. We remained like that for a short time and when I leaned back ever so slightly, I turned my head, my nose grazing against his cheekbone. I took his face in my hands and tilted his head down so that I could press my lips to the top of his most prominent facial scar, kissing my way down the permanent blemish until it stopped at the hollow of his cheek. All it took was a shift of my head a couple inches and my mouth was over his, and when I puckered my lips, they just barely touched his. Each kiss was just a little bit firmer, a little bit longer, and soon Jon was kissing me back, letting me taste his tobacco and winterfresh breath, and his warm tongue. 

* * * * *

I had made Jon wait in the hallway outside my apartment door for a couple minutes while I straightened up. It was a tiny place and I wasn't exactly a tidy person. Once all the dishes were in the sink, garbage in the garbage can, dirty clothes in the hamper, and clean clothes tossed in the closet, I gave Jon the green light to come in. 

It wasn't the first time Jon had been over, but it was nerve wracking all the same to watch his eyes scan my single room apartment like he was trying to spot something that wasn't there before. There was never really much to see, though, besides clutter. Just a kitchenette, a Salvation Army desk and my bed, which was just a mattress and box spring sitting on the floor under the only window in the whole apartment. There was a door next to the refrigerator that led to a small bathroom and a sliding door by my bed that was a long, narrow closet stuffed with old school stuff and cheap clothes. I never liked buying furniture because I never liked moving it, so when I did buy things for the apartment it was usually funky blankets and pillows and water cups with TV characters on them. I hung Christmas lights across two adjacent walls but rarely plugged them in, worrying it might be a fire hazard. There was no television, but I did have a laptop that I kept locked in my desk in case of a break in. 

Jon took his fake-leather jacket off and draped it over my desk chair. “I like the dinosaur pillows.”

I turned to my bed, cheeks going pink as I realized I had made my bed the other day with cartoon dinosaur sheets I'd bought on sale in the children's section at Target. It probably looked even stranger that along with them, I was using a thick Christmas themed throw blanket as a comforter. 

“So, I have a question,” he continued. “You're still seventeen, right? So how come you're living on your own and not in some shitty foster home?”

“It's a long story,” I said, sitting down on the edge of my bed. Because there wasn't a frame, the height was about the same as a regular couch. “The short version is that my brother adopted me when he turned twenty-one, but that turned out to be a complete nightmare, so I got emancipated when I was fifteen, around the time I started at Westeros Prep. I had been working since I was fourteen so I could already support myself enough to afford this lavish life of luxury you see here.”

With some hesitancy, Jon replied “I thought your brother died.”

“My oldest brother killed himself less than a year before I was born. I have another brother, though, who is about seven years older than me. I haven't seen him in a couple years. He must have gotten all of my father's genes, because he's not a very good person. I still love him, though, but if I never have to see him again, I think I'd be okay with that.”

Jon nodded slowly, crossing the few feet between my desk and my bed to sit beside me. “Fucked up families,” he said. 

“Exactly.” 

For a bit, we sat in silence, save for the soft hum of the traffic outside, until Jon broke it.

“What do you want to do?”

Nervously, I shrugged, a lie because I knew exactly what I wanted to do. It was the same thing we'd almost done the last time Jon was over, and the same thing I fantasized about most nights as I tried to fall asleep. 

“Are you too warm in that?” he asked.

I glanced down at my sweatshirt and nodded, then pulled the thing off. The tank top I wore underneath rode up to just under my bra as I did so, so I tugged it back down over my hips quickly. Jon raised a hand to the back of my head and I felt his fingers rake through where my loose hair had become tangled. When I toed off my shoes, Jon followed suit and removed his Converse. While his eyes were on his feet, I took a chance and pulled off my tank top, and before Jon's eyes found me again, I was already shedding my bra. 

“We don't have to,” he said, because that was the sort of thing nice guys said, and while I was glad for that, what I really wanted was to feel his hands on my naked tits and his mouth kissing me all over. 

It sounds silly, but the fact that Jon had turned eighteen and I was still seventeen made me even more excited. I always enjoyed those sorts of benign rebellions because it was all I could ever afford myself. I felt this way behind the basketball gym sometimes when Jon and I would spend the entire period making out. As soon as the bell would ring, I would pull back just slightly and say “We need to get to class” and Jon would reply “Fuck class. Kiss me,” and I would kiss him for another two minutes before we'd run to Chemistry and get there just as the bell was ringing again. Little things like that made me feel dangerous and like my life was more interesting than it really was. 

Jon had a condom in his wallet “just in case” and when we were both naked I watched him slide it onto himself, chewing on my fingernails until he was finished. I was a virgin and he wasn't, but I liked that it wouldn't be his first time. I needed him to be less nervous than I was. 

Lying back on one of my dinosaur print pillows, I parted my legs enough for Jon to situate himself between them. When he leaned over me, I flinched a bit, thinking he was going to put his penis in me right then, but he didn't. He pushed some strands of hair from my face and asked “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered and pushed some of his curls behind his ear. 

“Just kiss me, alright? And don't stop.”

That sounded easy. I'd had a lot of practice kissing Jon over the last few of months. When he closed the gap between our mouths, I kissed him the way I thought lovers kissed and tried not to focus on Jon's hand as it trailed between our bodies and touched me where no one else had ever touched me before. My hips jerked slightly and I moaned into his mouth which just made him kiss me better. 

A second after his hand left me, I felt something else replace it, but instead of freaking out, I just did what he said and kept on kissing him. I had my hand behind his head, keeping him with me just in case. 

I knew that it would hurt. Everyone always says the first time hurts, but the pain went away a lot sooner than I thought it would. I wondered if having used tampons for years had helped, but quickly turned my mind onto something other than periods, like the fact that Jon Snow, my boyfriend, who I loved so deeply, was in my bed, having sex with me.

Afterward, we got Icee's and pizza from downstairs and watched Lost on my laptop, pausing it every few minutes to make out a little bit. “Best birthday ever,” Jon had murmured between kisses.

* * * * *

“Daenerys,” Jon breathed against my mouth and I wanted to roll myself up and live between his lips like one of his cigarettes. But then he said “Maybe I should leave.”

I leaned back a bit, understanding but also not understanding at all, because he had kissed me back, his hand had slid from my waist to my thigh and his dark eyes were full of hunger. 

“Can't you just kiss me for a little?” I asked, running my hand across his cheek and feeling his short beard tickle my palm. 

Leaning his forehead against mine, he purred. “I don't know if I can just kiss you.”

I recaptured his mouth, trapping his bottom lip between mine. The kisses intensified quickly. I didn't think I'd ever kissed Jon like this. These were needy, ravenous kisses. Live-in-the-moment kisses, because in the next moment, everything could be different. Forget-about-the-future kisses. There was only right now.

I swung a leg over his lap and his hands went to my ass before sliding up and under my shirt, uncomfortably stretching all the fabric that kept my body hidden. His fingers unhooked my bra so that his palms could caress the length of my back uninterrupted. Maybe that was as far as Jon wanted to go, but I took a chance away, leaned back on his lap and peeled off my shirt and sweatshirt, all in one, albeit awkward, motion. Then I took a breath, watching Jon's dark eyes watch my chest as I slowly slid my bra down my arms before dropping it onto the floor.

From my back, Jon's hands trailed around until they were feeling the curve of my tits, not much different, I hoped, from the last time he'd held them. His calloused fingers against my nipples made me bite my bottom lip and I was suddenly feeling breathless. When Jon leaned forward, I tilted my head up and then his mouth was on my neck, pressing wet kisses that made my toes curl. Arousal boiled between my legs and I began to move my hips just enough to feel how much he wanted me too. As soon as my crotch brushed his, he hummed against my neck and slid his hands back down to my ass, pulling me firmly against him.

“I need you,” I breathed, my eyes closed, focusing on his body against mine. “I need you inside me.”

But a moment later, he was leaning away from me, resting against the back of the couch and parting his hands from my yearning body to rub his eyes, as if he thought this was some kind of dream. I could see the wheels turning in his head and suddenly felt lost. If he was mulling this over, then I knew how it would end. 

“This is why you were afraid to talk to me,” I said solemnly, fingers fiddling with the bottom hem of his flannel shirt. “You knew this would happen. You knew I still wanted you.”

His hands dropped to my thighs, rubbing them like he would do to my arm to comfort me, to comfort himself. I didn't feel comforted, though. I could tell he was trying to focus on my eyes and not the fact that I was half naked and on top of him, ready for the taking. “I knew that I still wanted you,” he whispered. “I just have to think first.”

“You've had all this time to think, Jon, and it lead you here. I didn't ask you to come over tonight. But you're here now, so stay.” I was pleading now and I hated it, but I was afraid that if he left I wouldn't ever see him again and I couldn't go through that twice. 

Eyes trailing down my body, I could see them flicker as one part of him tried desperately to convince all the other parts to give up on me. His hands began to tremble as they slid up to my hips, and then he was moving me off of him. Standing, he kept his back to me while he adjusted the way his jeans pressed against his erection. I didn't try to speak. I had already said all I could think of. 

“I just need to think,” he said again while pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket.

He didn't walk away, though. He remained standing in front of the couch, fingers sliding a cigarette into his mouth and I just watched him do it, content to let him smoke in my apartment if it meant he wouldn't leave. Jon would never do that, though. His hand never even reached for a lighter.

After a minute, I stood, cautious and quiet. I picked up my t-shirt and held it to my chest, covering myself without putting it on, then moved around to Jon's front. I didn't try to touch him, but I stood close. His eyes stared at the wall behind my head, still mulling. 

And then something changed. His eyes squeezed shut and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, tucking it behind his ear. A hand covered his eyes as he inhaled sharply through his nose. I wanted to hold him but still thought it best to give him space. The next time I saw his eyes, they were pink and his eyelids twitched like he was trying not to cry.

“Okay,” he said finally, then paused again to take a series of long breaths. “You were right. You were right all those years ago when you told me that it didn't matter and that it didn't change what we had, because I never got over you, I never stopped loving you and I never stopped wanting you. I guess that's obvious. Every day since you told me to eat shit and die, I have missed you. You're still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I would give you every single piece of me if you wanted it.” I could hear his throat swallow hard. “But, I don't want anyone to ever look down on you, or us. . . Fuck. This is hard for me. I want this so bad, but it's hard for me to accept that there's this thing between us. I wanted us to be perfect. I thought that we were perfect.”

The t-shirt was growing damp where my hands clutched the fabric. I was sweating again. Jon was too. Small beads of moisture percolated at his hairline.

Shaking my head, I whispered “I don't need perfect. I never did.” I stared at his chest. With him standing, the scars looked almost like rips in his flesh, like something trying to cut it's way out of him. “I'm sorry I pushed you. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. Please don't leave, though. We could just hang out. Even after all these years, I still think of you as my best friend. More than anything else, you were my best friend.”

My eyes caught Jon's green Converse stepping closer to me. I could feel the heat coming off of his body and when he laid his palm on my jaw, I thought the skin might melt off my face. 

“You're my best friend, too. And don't apologize. You didn't make me uncomfortable. I did. I've got Robb Stark's fucking voice in my head.”

He had said the last bit with a breathy chuckle and I finally picked my head up to face him. 

“I'm not going to listen to it anymore,” he added. “He doesn't know what this is like.”

Hopefully, I suggested “We could just get dinner and watch TV. We never did finish Lost. Well, I finished it without you, but we could start over. Get some Chinese food and just. . . start over.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Let's do that. But, let's do this first, alright?”

A second later, his mouth was over mine, kissing my upper lip and I was quick to capture his bottom lip, sucking gently. As soon as his arms were around my waist, I wrapped mine around his neck, dropping my t-shirt to the floor without a care. He held me close and lifted me to his height, my pointed toes leaving the carpet. My eyes were shut, focusing on kissing him, relishing in the tickle of his short beard against my nose and the smoking taste of his warm tongue. When his hand hooked under my butt, I wrapped my legs around him and moved my hips against his abdomen, longing for just an ounce of pressure between my thighs. My mind could hardly register that Jon had turned us around until I was suddenly horizontal, my back landing on my plush sofa cushions, and Jon was on top of me, having never broken our kiss. 

I was being consumed by hot breath and salty skin, and flexing muscles, like the one pulsing against my desperate pussy. My hands were quick to slide between our bodies, connecting with Jon's belt. The buckle landed harshly against my pelvis once I had it unfastened. Jon sat up on my knees between my legs and pulled the leather strap from the loops around his jeans and dropped it to the floor. 

“There are condoms under the sick in the bathroom,” I said through shallow gasps. 

Meeting my eyes, Jon nodded, then leaped up and went to find my bathroom. After a deep breath, I lifted my knees to my chest and pulled off my yoga pants and underwear. Jon was back before they hit the floor and I immediately broke out in a fit of laughter because he had brought the entire Costco sized box with him. He started to chuckle as well, but was too mesmerized by the sight of me.

Moving slower now, Jon set the box down on the floor and started on his shoes, eyes never leaving me. I thought he would undress for me, but he didn't. Once his shoes were off, he climbed back between my legs and leaned down, kissing me firm on the mouth before moving down to my neck, nibbling the skin and licking my throat. My eyes closed and my fingers wove into his hair as I felt wet kisses trail from my collarbone to my chest to my nipple – I gasped, his teeth grazing the hard nub before sweeping it with his tongue. And then he went lower, to my navel, then even lower. His arm hooked under my knee and lifted it up higher, over his shoulder, and then his lips were on my pussy, kissing me, teasing me, tasting how aroused I had become. I tilted my head back against the sofa cushion and groaned, overtaken by the sensual sound of wetness meeting wetness as he licked me.

After Jon found my clit I knew it wouldn't take long for me to cum. My pussy had sucked his two fingers into it's depth like they belonged there and my muscles clenched them tight as he persistently sucked my clit between his lips and did something with his tongue that made me whimper curse words through clenched teeth, moving my hips against his mouth. My orgasm seemed to last forever though it was probably only about ten seconds. I begged him not to stop, and he didn't, but eventually it was too much and I had to push his head away. 

I was left panting, chest heaving. Jon had sat up and I closed my legs, my thighs pressed tightly together. Slowly, he removed his fingers from inside me and rested his sticky hand on my knee, squeezing it gently. When I was calm, I looked at him and blushed, realizing it was the most relaxed I'd felt in a long time.

“Hi,” I breathed, like my mind had been wiped clean and I was meeting him for the first time, naked and trembling. 

“Hi,” he replied, then gently pulled my legs straight, to rest across his own.

Jon rubbed my calves and feet and after a couple minutes, I thought I could fall asleep like that, but then I remembered the box of condoms and suddenly felt a pulse between my thighs. It had been so long since someone else had given me an orgasm that I'd forgotten just how much I loved it, but an orgasm wasn't all that I wanted.

Twisting on my side, I reached down to the floor and retrieved a condom from the box before sitting up. I moved to straddle Jon's lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of him. I could smell myself on his face when I leaned close. I kissed him, open-mouthed, connecting our tongues and I could taste myself too among his usual Jon taste. Even better.

While we made out like we used to, but better, I felt Jon's hands between us and his hips raising against me. He leaned forward to finish pushing his jeans and boxers off his legs, but I moved with him the whole time, never breaking our kiss. His erection was against me now, flesh on flesh. Jon leaned back against the couch and I lowered my pussy to let it rest atop the underside of his pulsing cock. He moaned into my mouth, his hands squeezing my ass while I moved my hips just enough to get him slick with my cum. 

I'll admit, I wanted to let him slide into me right then, but I handed the condom to him and watched him put it on himself. Once ready, I gripped Jon's shoulders and lowered myself onto him, trying to keep my breathing even while he filled me.

“Oh my God,” I groaned once I had him all the way inside. His forehead was against mine, his hands back on my ass and I simply stayed there, sitting on his lap with him buried inside me, shifting ever so slightly here and there, getting reacquainted to the feel of him.

After half a minute, I lifted up a couple inches, then lowered back down. This simple move made Jon groan and squeeze my flesh. 

“Just to warn you,” he sighed, “I'm not going to last very long.”

I dropped my forehead to his shoulder, and through a breathy laugh, I said “I'm good with that,” then rolled my hips to elicit some more of Jon's soft throaty sounds.

We did end up getting Chinese food, and we also watched Lost, but only the first episode before retreating into my bedroom. Into my bed, to be specific, but we wouldn't need the condoms. We just laid together underneath mismatched sheets and blankets, making each other warm in my drafty bedroom. Then we just slept. We slept for a long time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept so long, and not once had Jon gotten up to smoke.

In fact, he was still asleep on his back when I dragged myself out of bed to use the bathroom. It was the late morning and I heard Missandei come in the front door while I was brushing my teeth. I grabbed a brush from the counter and started working on the tangles in my hair while I walked out to greet my roommate. 

She was sitting up on the kitchen counter, eating Greek yogurt with her finger, wearing the clothes she left in last night and looking as though she had hardly slept a wink.

“Fun date?” I asked, trying to keep my tone cool and casual. 

With a tired smirk, Missandei nodded, then sucked some more yogurt off her index finger. “I should ask you the same thing. You finally get on Tinder or something?”

I shook my head, bringing my own finger to my mouth to nibble on a nail. “No, Jon and I have known each other since high school,” I replied. Maybe it was time for another test. “We actually dated in high school.”

Back straightening, Missandei gazed wild, intrigued eyes at me. “You had sex with an ex-boyfriend? That is some drama, Dany,” she said in an excited whisper. For a moment I felt flushed, wondering how she'd known we had sex, but then I realized we'd left the box of condoms sitting on the living room floor. 

“You have no idea. But. . . I'm choosing to be optimistic.” I smiled a true smile, something Missandei rarely saw from me.

With a sly grin, Missandei hopped off the counter, tossed her yogurt cup in the trash, then pulled me into a tight embrace. This was also a rare occurrence so my arms were more tentative as they wrapped around her. 

When she let go, she swayed off in the direction of her bedroom, asking me to wake her up for work in four hours. That reminded me that Jon had work at two o'clock, so I slipped back into my room to lay with him some more before he would have to leave. And I would watch him leave, happily, finally knowing for sure that it wouldn't be for good.


	5. Chapter 5

After we had sex for the first time, it felt like everyone at school could tell. Or maybe it was just in my head. Maybe I just wanted everyone to be able to notice that mine and Jon's relationship wasn't just some super close friendship. I found myself wanting to hold his hand more in public and put my arm around his waist while we walked, to kiss him in the hallway and let everyone know that he was mine and I was his. Jon never seemed to mind either and I realized he had only held back before for my comfort. 

The weather was getting hot as graduation approached – just a month away now. One day, while I was sorting through my mess of a locker looking for a hair tie to keep my waist-long hair off my sweaty neck, I was approached by a face I recognized, though we'd never officially met.

“Do you know who I am?” the red-headed underclassman asked me in a low, quiet voice like she was Deep Throat in the shadows of an underground parking garage and not the Social Sciences building at school, her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses shielding her eyes despite us being indoors. Jon had mentioned his cousin, Sansa, had a flare for dramatics. 

I closed my locker door and raised an eyebrow at her. “You're Robb Stark's sister.”

“Yes,” she huffed unhappily. She probably got that a lot, being the first Stark sibling to attend Westeros Prep since her older brother passed through the halls like high school royalty. Everyone loved Robb Stark. Even I did in the small way that one loves someone else just for being attractive and tall and not a total asshole. At the very least, he never call me the Targaryen bitch. Looking at his little sister, I doubted there was much we had in common, but I couldn't help but share her animosity for constantly being defined by a relative's existence. Robb Stark's Sister & the Targaryen Bitch. We should have started a girl band.

“But Jon Snow is also my cousin,” she continued. “You knew that, right?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, folding my arms in front of me, reserving all of my niceness until after her point was made. 

“So, are you and him really. . . I mean, it's not just a joke. . ?”

“That we're together?”

“So you are together? Like, actually together?”

“Yeah, for about four months now. He never told you?” 

Her lips pursed as she shook her head. “Jon doesn't really tell us things. I mean, he talks to us, sure, but he doesn't tell us things.” She took a beat to glance around us, like she was about to spill government secrets. “Look, don't be mad at him. It's good that he hasn't said anything. You probably know this, but a lot of families in this city aren't big fans of yours. To be honest, I think it's pretty silly. You seem alright to me. I actually think you're really pretty.”

My expression softened into a small smile. “Thanks. I think your --”

“I just wanted to tell you that I don't care that my cousin is dating a Targaryen. I'm not going tell my mom and dad. No one ever trusts me, but you can trust me.”

I got the feeling like I was supposed to be glad for this, but I wasn't. “Would it really be that big of a deal if they knew? I mean, I never even met my father. I'm not --”

“Yeah, but. . .” she interrupted, “you're still a Targaryen. It'll just make everyone's lives easier if they never find out. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I answered quietly, and after a quick complement about my hair, Sansa Stark was shuffling off in heels she wasn't steady on.

It was another conversation I should have paid more mind too. For a fourteen year old, Sansa had known what she was talking about. It would have been easier if Ned Stark had never found out about me and Jon. We could have pulled that off, right? We could have eloped and I would change my name to Snow. I would dye my hair and force Jon to call me Dany in front of his uncle when we'd come over for Thanksgiving dinners. Swear Sansa, and even Robb, to secrecy. A terrible plan, but I think we could have done it.

We were mere weeks from graduating. I had already gotten back all of my college acceptance and rejection letters – and one wait-list offer from Yale – and submitted my admission decision to Caltech, my second choice after Harvard sent me the old “We regret to inform you that. . .” e-mail. This was supposed to be a happy time, getting to leave Westeros Prep and start a better chapter of my life, but that all changed when I lost my job at Banana Republic. The first domino to fall.

“I won't be able to pay next month's rent. I won't be able to get a new job before I'll have to pay it, and what job would even hire someone who's going to have to quit in less than three months when the semester starts?” I was distraught, face in my hands while Jon ran his palm up and down my spine. I blamed loosing my job, but the truth was that it was my fault. If I hadn't been so upset, if I had just put on a confident face and tried to figure it all out on my own, then maybe Jon never would have felt the need to suggest what he did. 

“You should come live with me,” he said. “The house is so fucking huge you barely see anyone even when the it's full of people. My bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from everyone else's, it's got it's own bathroom, and it's larger than your entire apartment. Just come live with me until we get our own place.”

Even though it was a ridiculous idea, I smiled anyway, because Jon wanted me to move in with him and how could that not make me smile. “I don't think your aunt and uncle would let that happen. Thank you, though.”

We were at my place, sitting on my bed. Jon had come over as soon as I texted him what had happened at the end of my Friday evening shift.

“Then I'll get a job and help you. I was going to have to get one after graduation anyway.”

“Even if I was comfortable letting you pay my rent for me, you wouldn't be able to find a job and get your first paycheck before my rent's due.”

“I could steal fixtures from my uncle's house and sell them.”

“Wow, chivalry really isn't dead,” I laughed. 

He put his arms around me and pulled me close. “Just let me talk to him. I know he and your father had some sort of feud a long ass time ago, but Ned is actually a decent guy. Probably the most decent rich man you could meet. I think he'll want to help out once he knows how much you mean to me.”

“He'll probably think I'm using you just like everyone else.”

“You are using me, aren't you?” He ran his fingers up my side to make me giggle. “You know, for my sexy body.”

“You caught me.”

“And if you're going to move in with me, you're going to be seeing a lot of it.”

I grinned and twisted to put my arms around his neck, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him. While we kissed, Jon laid down on his back.

“Thank you,” I whispered close to his mouth. 

Running his fingers through my hair, he said “Don't thank me until I successfully convince my uncle to let a Targaryen move in.”

“I'm saying thank you for liking me even though I'm a Targaryen.”

His eyes squinted for a moment. “Targaryen is just a name. Like Stark or Snow. They're just syllables. A syllable can't dictate what kind of a person you are.”

I sat up, pouting slightly and gazing down at him with my best puppy dog eyes. “You didn't like me before you found out I was poor.”

Eyes casting away, he tapped his fingers against my hip, wearing a contemplative expression. After a bit, he looked back up at me and said “This is going to sound really pathetic, but I wasn't messing with you then because I didn't like you, I was messing with you because I did like you and I thought you would never like me.”

I blinked at him, not quite understanding. 

“When I came into Chemistry on my first day, and Baratheon told me where my seat was, I remember walking over and seeing you with your wavy white hair and big blue eyes – and you were somehow already taking notes even though class hadn't even started yet – and I thought to myself, this must be the most beautiful girl on the planet. How the hell am I going to get her to notice me?”

“You're lying.”

He shook his head. “I thought all rich girls liked jerks, honestly. When I found out you weren't rich, I thought maybe I'd been going about it the wrong way.”

“Why did you wait so long to ask me out then?”

“Like I said. . . Most beautiful girl on the planet. It's a bit intimidating. You could have asked me out too, you know. Feminism and all that.”

I leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow, then whispered “Will you go out with me, Jon Snow?”

“Yes,” he answered with a sly smile, hands traveling from my hips to my butt. “Can we have sex first, though?”

Cheeks tinting red, I scrunched my nose and giggled silently while nodding my head. He flipped me onto my back. We were in love. Yes, we were young, but that didn't change anything. It wasn't platonic love, or fatuous love. It was real. We wanted the best for each other, to help each other and provide for each other. We were best friends but also wanted to fuck each other as often as possible. We respected each other and compromised. We never really fought because our personalities were so similar, and in the ways that we differed, we found love in those parts too. I really did think that we would be together forever, but forever would only last another few days. 

* * * * *

When I got off my shift at Martell's the following Saturday, Jon was waiting for me out front and my eyes lit up like they hadn't since I was seventeen. 

He was smiling too as he dropped his cigarette to the concrete. “Hungry?”

“Always,” I answered. 

Because of our work schedules, it was difficult to spend much time together during the week so this was our first opportunity to spend real time together since he stayed the night at my house five days ago. I hadn't been able to hug him or kiss him since and I suddenly found myself too nervous to do so outside of Martell's, out in the open, like I was afraid one of the Starks would jump out from behind a bush and swat my nose with a rolled up magazine. But in Jon's Jeep, he put his hand on my thigh while he drove, and I put my hand over his. 

We went to the beach and got tacos again. Jon bought some for himself too and we ate them together before walking down to the sand. The sunset was striking, pink fading into a deep purple. I toed out of my Sketchers and socks, rolled up my pants up to my knees and put my feet in the water, letting the tide wash up to my ankles before it rushed back out to the sea, sand and sediment rising over my toes. As I breathed in the salty air, I felt something small hit my back before plopping into the wet sand. I twisted around to see Jon standing above the tide line, hands behind his back and looking away, suspiciously innocent. A few seconds after turning back toward the water, I felt another soft pang of a small object hitting my back. Twisting around quicker this time, I caught Jon bringing his hands behind his back once again, lips pressed together to conceal his amusement. 

“Are you throwing things at me?!” I called out to him.

He sent me an exaggerated look of confusion, bringing one hand to his chest. “I'm sorry, do I know you?!”

Shaking my head, I bent down and gathered up the wet sand in my hands before the tide could sweep back up the beach. 

“What are you doing?” I heard him ask. 

I stood, sculpting the sand into a smooth ball. Jon began backing away when I skipped up to him, but before he could get too far from me, I pelted the clump of sand, aiming for his chest, only to have it vaporize in mid air and fall like confetti down to the beach. While Jon laughed into his palm I glared at him with my lips pursed. 

Once composed, Jon walked up to me with his arms outstretched, but I kept mine crossed defiantly over my chest. He embraced me against him and it became harder to conceal a smile. When his mouth pecked quick kisses to my forehead and cheek, though, I relented and turned my head to press my lips to his. As the kiss deepened I trailed my hand down between us, past his belt. Jon made a noise as I slid my hand right into the front pocket of his jeans and he leaned away from me with another innocent smile as I pulled out a handful of seashells. 

“I've never seen those in my life,” he tried. 

Shaking my head again, I dropped the shells into the sand before taking his shirt and pulling him against me, my wet toes digging into the sand as I kissed him some more before remembering we were still in public. I pulled back with a blush, turning away to find where I'd dropped my shoes. 

“You're still a goofball, Jon Snow,” I told him and he seemed to take it as a complement.

We held hands on our way back to Jon's car and then he took me back to his apartment, which was just a couple blocks from the pier, an upstairs unit of a four-plex on a main road. The massive complexes on the other side of the road prevented an ocean view, but I could still smell the salt in the air. I was impressed before we even got upstairs. 

Jon's was a funny apartment. It had quirks that showed how old the building must be. There was a nonoperational fireplace that now just looked like a curved wall with a square cut into it, and Jon used it to stack DVDs. The main room was divided into two sections by built in shelving and cabinetry stuffed with a massive collection of paperbacks. The front section, with a large window facing the road, was the living room, cluttered but not messy, with a deep faux-leather couch and some IKEA furniture in front of a TV mounted on the wall. He even had a PlayStation3. In the second section, which looked a lot like it was intended to be a dining room back when the floor plan was designed – I would guess the thirties – was where Jon's bed was, no larger than my full sized bed, but he actually had a headboard, wooden and sturdy. 

“It's technically a one-bedroom,” Jon explained, “but the bedroom is super tiny so I just keep all my gym stuff in there.” 

I made a right, walking through the small hallway. There was an archway on one side leading into a small room with a yellow kitchen – he didn't have a dishwasher either – and on the other side was the door to the bathroom. A few steps further down the hall was the “bedroom” Jon had referenced. It really was tiny. Just big enough to keep a rack of weights and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

“I like it,” I told him.

Back in the living room, we laid together on the couch, my cheek on his chest, his hand rubbing lazy circles against my back. I'd been telling him about work and how annoying my manager was. When I noticed some spiral bound notebooks lying across the coffee table, I stretched my arm out and took the first one my fingers met. 

“What are these?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Flipping through the notebook, my eyes scanned what looked like verses scribbled in Jon's messy handwriting. I lifted my eyes to him, grinning. “Jon, have you been writing poetry?” 

His cheeks flushed, head shaking. “They aren't poems. Songs really, but I can't sing and I can't play any instruments. I've been trying to teach myself the guitar, but it isn't working out very well.”

Choosing a page at random, I recited the first stanza on the page:

“You make me feel like I am falling into pieces.  
Take away all my feelings,  
And I'm yours.”

I turned back to him. “Who is this about?”

With a shrug, he answered “Life, I guess.”

After shutting the notebook, I lifted myself up and placed it back where I found it. “You're talented.”

His head shook again.

“You are,” I insisted. Then, hesitantly, as I picked at a stray thread coming off the bottom hem of my shirt, I said “Jon, can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you loved anyone since me? It's okay if you have. I just want to know.”

His tired eyes seemed to focus more and he leaned up on his elbows. 

“Wait,” I said quickly. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”

Ignoring me, Jon answered “I've only ever loved you.”

When all I did was chew on my bottom lip and stare down at my lap, Jon sat up and leaned in close to me. “You don't believe me,” he said. 

“I believe you.”

“Then what's wrong? You want to know if I've been with anyone else?”

I looked at him. “Don't tell me. I already know you have. It's been six years after all. I'd be stupid to think you hadn't.”

Jon raised his hand to my cheek, running his thumb over my bottom lip. Hushed, but adamant, he said “I love you.”

To hear Jon say the words in that way, like it was a complete sentence, had me gravitating toward him until our parted lips connected, my tongue sweeping inside his mouth.

When I pulled back, we were both breathless, lips glistening. “I love you, too.”

There was still a small piece of me that wondered if this was wrong. It was the same piece that used to tell me no one would ever want me, and that I would never amount to anything, despite my best efforts. It was the piece of me that even my anti-depressants couldn't quite quash. Jon had the same piece inside of him and maybe we got it from the same place. But I never stopped believing that Jon and I were meant to be with each other, and I wasn't about to start fighting that now.

Our clothes were off before we made it to Jon's bed, wasting no time because the want was too strong. He was on top of me moments after my head hit the pillow, my legs eagerly parting for him. I had my hand around his cock, giving deliberate strokes until he was fully erect. Every time he moaned into my mouth I smiled. I positioned his erection and felt the head dip into my wetness. 

Pulling away from my mouth, Jon mumbled something about a condom, then rolled off of me. I pouted a bit at the loss of warmth, then turned my eyes to watch him riffle through the drawer of his bedside table. Jon's back was to me and I gazed lustfully at the toned muscles as they subtly flexed. As Jon finally located a condom deep in the drawer, my eyes moved up to his shoulders and suddenly, my pulse began to race. 

“Jon,” I said, my surprise sounding like urgency as I quickly sat up on my knees. 

He twisted to look back at me, eyebrows furrowing with concern. 

“You're shoulder.” I walked on my knees until I was right behind him.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, turning forward so that he could no longer see my shocked expression. His body seemed to relax like he had just received bad news. “I'm sorry,” he then said. “I got it so long ago, and it being on my back, I sometimes forget it's even there. I meant to tell you before you saw it.”

“How long ago?” I asked, my voice hushed, mind still reeling.

“Five years maybe.”

My fingers raised to the back of his right shoulder, grazing the flesh where it was inked with black, red and a sparkle of silver, where tall, curling cursive letters spelled out 'Targaryen.'

“Is it weird?”

“Yes,” I breathed before I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the 'g.' “But, I like it.”

His head turned to the side, peering at me over his shoulder. “I did always love your name.”

Wrapping my arms around his middle, I pressed more kisses to his skin, all the way up his neck. I plucked the condom from his hand and scooted backward, back to the center of the bed so that Jon could climb back over me. I scraped my bottom lip with my teeth. Eyes flickering toward the condom between my fingers as I said “You don't have to. I have an IUD. Birth control.”

Only a moment passed before he was taking the condom back from me and I thought he had decided to use it anyway, but instead, he tossed it back into his open nightstand drawer. Another second and his mouth was on mine. My knees raised and again I felt his erection nudging my slick pussy, and almost as soon as his hand was between my legs, I felt his cock enter me.

A week ago, we had made love with me rising and falling on his lap with a careful sensuality until we both came through soft whimpers and quiet moans. Tonight, though, Jon made love to me by fucking me into his bed and sucking on my neck while I had one hand clawing short nails into his back and the other planted firmly against the headboard behind my head. The next time that surreptitious piece of my brain would try to tell me I shouldn't be with Jon, I'd remember this night. I'd remember his hot mouth on my neck, his strong hands on my ass, and his bare cock thrusting deep inside me over and over in just the right spot while I beg him to cum inside me.

Afterward, lying spent on top of his sheets, he explained to me the rest of his tattoos: a wolf on his bicep, like the statue outside of the Stark estate – his mother's date of birth and death printed within the fur – then a small design dedicated to the Army and one dedicated to the friends he'd lost. He told me about them as well.

“Eleven,” he said. “That's how many men died. But, for some reason, I lived. For a long time I thought I shouldn't have. I thought that twelve men should have died, not eleven.”

With my hand rested on his chest, atop the scar and above his heart, I said “Zero men should have died.”

“I know that now.”

“I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like if you had died. If, instead of running into you at Whole Foods, I ran into Sam or one of your cousins and they told me you had died. . . I would. . . It would have torn me apart.”

He leaned up on an elbow and kissed me. “Then I'm glad I didn't die.”

“Good, because I need you. You're part of me.”

Shaking his head slowly, he ran his hand up the curve of my hip to rest on my waist. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At only twenty-three, I had felt like an old woman, like the rest of my life would be spent cursing past mistakes and mourning lost potential. But then I found Jon again, and suddenly, I realized how young twenty-three was. I had my whole life ahead of me. I could still get a college degree. I could still have a career and a small house on a big piece of land. Goats and dogs and lizards. I could still get married and maybe even still have two kids by the time I turn thirty. I could still want things. I could still get the things that I deserve. I could still be happy.


	6. Chapter 6

“He wants to meet you.”

We were at school, sitting side by side behind the basketball gym as usual. Jon had spoken to his uncle about me living there until I'd move into the Caltech dorms in August, or until Jon got a job that afforded him his own place. When Jon said the words, he looked nervous, which did not set my mind at ease.

“Don't worry,” he said, despite himself. “I'll be there, and my cousins will be there, too. He isn't going to say anything nasty with other people around.”

“You think he'd say nasty things if it was just the two of us?” I asked while chewing on my thumb nail. 

“Well, about your dad maybe. I don't know. But, I'm sure that when he meets you, he's going to see that your father's actions have nothing to do with who you are, because you're amazing.”

I smiled, but knew Jon was being overly optimistic. Still, though, I agreed to come over to the Stark home for dinner the following evening.

* * * * *

Waking up with the sun, Jon was still fast asleep beside me, lying on his stomach and I took another glance at my name upon his skin before sliding out from under the covers. I found Jon's t-shirt from yesterday lying in front of the couch and put it on, then pulled back the front window curtain a little more to look out at the early morning sky, at the gulls swirling in the distance. I spent some time looking through another of Jon's notebooks, then went about counting all the novels he'd collected. 127. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, then opened up some of the drawers just for fun. 

The paint stuck slightly as I pulled open the small drawer closest to the fridge. Inside was a stack of opened envelopes, all addressed to Jon. At the top left hand corner of each envelope was the name Robb Stark. Out of reluctant curiosity, I pulled out the contents of the first envelope in the stack. It was a check, signed and dated, for one-thousand dollars. In the next envelope was another check, also for one-thousand dollars. Every envelope contained a check for one-thousand dollars, each dated a month apart, and each signed by Robb Stark. Robb had been sending Jon these checks every month for the past year, and all of them sat in this drawer, un-cashed. 

I felt a tightening in my chest at the familiarity of it. Money. Something I never had enough of. Something the Starks had too much of. 

* * * * *

From the outside, the Stark estate looked like a mansion, guarded by a tall stone wolf, teeth bared. From the inside, it looked like a palace, like I was walking into the home of royalty I would have to curtsy to – I should have worn a gown, rather than my white jeans and plaid shirt. Marble floors, marble walls. Chandeliers in every room. Twenty foot ceilings that echoed with every word I whispered. Even more unbelievable was that, according to rumors, my father had been at least twice as wealthy as the Starks. Thinking of my brothers learning to walk and talk and play in a house even grander than this made me feel truly alone. But only for as long as it took Jon to take my hand and squeeze. 

I met everyone that afternoon. Sansa, officially, who convincingly pretended we had never spoken before, before throwing me a look as if to say 'I warned you, and you went and did exactly what I told you not to do.' Jon introduced me to Arya with a glimmer in his eye. She was his favorite, a little wild girl who he thought looked so much like his mother. Next I met Bran, a somber little boy, presenting himself in a princely fashion, a direct contradiction to the stories I'd heard of him always getting into trouble for endangering himself during play time. Rickon was the smallest Stark, but quiet and with a mop of curly hair atop his head like Jon, except light in color. Even Robb was present, which made me wary, since Jon told me he lived in the dorms on campus and only came home on weekends.

“It's nice to see you again, Dany.” he told me, shaking my hand, making me feel like this were a job interview, and in some ways I suppose it was. The job was being Jon's live-in girlfriend and my employers would be his aunt and uncle, already biased against me. 

Speaking of which, they were who I met last. Catelyn Stark, Jon's aunt, emerged from the kitchen with an apron on as if she was actually cooking dinner, even though I had already seen multiple servants move around the house and I was sure there was another charged with fixing the food. Jon introduced me to her as Daenerys, as he did with his cousins. Part of me didn't like this, because I didn't want anyone except Jon calling me Daenerys, but since this was his family and I wanted to make a good impression, I didn't correct him. 

She smiled and reached out a long slender hand to give mine a gentle shake. I marveled at how much she looked like Sansa, tall, straight-backed and fire-haired, with blue eyes that pierced and soothed at the same time. “Well I never thought I'd see the day that Ned let a Targaryen into our home. You must be special to Jon, but I must admit that he's told me absolutely nothing about you. All I know is what Robb has mentioned.”

I raised an eyebrow at Jon's oldest cousin and the young man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just that you're really good at math.”

Trying to relax was difficult, especially with the way Robb was looking at me. He wasn't hostile, but he wasn't exactly friendly. Actually, he looked awkward, as awkward as a man like him could look I assumed. His arms were folded over his chest and he kept glancing down at his feet, only smiling those forced, polite smiles. Jon noticed it, too, and side stepped closer to me, putting his hand on my back. I wondered if Jon thought that something had happened between Robb and I before he came into the picture. If I hadn't been absolutely certain that Robb and I had never exchanged more than three sentences during our time as classmates, I would have taken Robb's demeanor as jealousy. But then I remembered that, good person or not, Robb was a Stark, the oldest Stark child, and probably knew every detail about my father's dealings and whatever conspired between him and Ned Stark. He wouldn't say it, but it was obvious Robb didn't want to be there, about to have dinner with Aerys Targaryen's daughter. 

Long minutes of uncomfortable small talk ensued. I didn't say much, even though most questions were directed at me. The pre-interview. Jon was eager to answer almost everything on my behalf, and I was happy to let him do so.

It wasn't until we sat down in the formal dining room that the Stark patriarch came home, the tall front doors swinging loudly open, then loudly shut before he came marching into the dining room just as the food was being brought to the table by the same servants I saw earlier. He still had his briefcase in hand when he came to a halt in the doorway, then dropped it on top of the credenza. Catelyn and the Stark children all greeted him warmly from their seats and Ned simply nodded in response. Jon remained silent, his hand never leaving my leg. I remembered when he told me he felt like a traitor sometimes. I knew he cared for his uncle, because his uncle was his family, but I was sensing the distance he put between them in that moment. I would be lying if I said it didn't reassure me. I wanted Jon to be on my side after all, and not necessarily Ned's. 

As Ned approached the empty chair at the head of the table, his eyes fell on me and for a moment his eyes flashed with surprise, like he'd forgotten he was the one who invited me here. But then he took a breath and the look was gone. 

“This is Daenerys,” Jon said. 

“You can call me Dany,” I interjected as politely as I could. “It's nice to meet you finally, Mr. Stark.”

He removed his jacket and a servant popped out to take it from him. Sitting down with a thud, Ned said “Daenerys is a very Targaryen name. Targaryens, Targaryens,” he repeated like he was just learning the pronunciation. “It almost seemed like it's own culture the way the Targaryens would name their children, and in the way most of them were born with such unnaturally white hair. You look so much like your mother. All the boys in the neighborhood went wild for Rhaella when I was young. She was a Targaryen too, if I'm not mistaken. A cousin of Aerys, is that right?”

A wave of “Eww” circled the table where the Stark children sat.

“Ned,” Catelyn warned. “Don't start this while we're eating.”

My skin turned hot and I felt like I would melt to the floor.

“I wouldn't know,” I answered quietly. “I wouldn't know anything about my mother. Three-fourths of my entire family died on, or before the day I was born. I don't know anything about them. So if you're asking me if my parents were in some way related. . . I don't know what to tell you. Whatever Targaryen culture there once was, it doesn't exist anymore.”

“I am sorry about your mother,” Ned responded as he dished himself out large servings of meat and vegetables. “She always seemed like a good person. Not at all like Aerys. There relationship was always so odd to me, like they were more roommates than husband and wife. I don't think she ever really cared for him. He most certainly didn't care for her, poor woman. Anyway, she was a good mother if nothing else. She would do anything for her children.”

“I wouldn't know anything about that either, but I like to imagine her as a good mother,” I replied. “You knew my whole family then?”

He took a bite and nodded with a full mouth. 

“You know that my father was murdered in jail then?”

Another nod, expression void of any real sympathy.

“Do you know why my brother, Rhaegar, killed himself? Because I don't.”

At the other end of the table, Catelyn made a disapproving hum under her breath, but said nothing. 

After a big gulp, Ned answered with a harshness to his tone. “Well, Rhaegar was a coward. He was going to prison, and he couldn't handle that, so he chose to take the easy way out, leaving his family alone to suffer. It's his fault that --”

“Father,” Robb interrupted, expressive eyes glaring a pointed message at Ned before he took a breath and composed himself. He sent a glance to his siblings who all sat in uncomfortable silence.

I stood quickly. “I'm going to use the restroom,” I announced, then moved out of the room before my tears could fall. I heard Ned instruct Jon to sit back down as I walked toward the first floor hallway to cry. 

I couldn't believe I had been stupid enough to let Jon convince me this was a good idea. It wasn't Jon's fault, but I found myself angry with him still, because he should have known this was futile. Ned Stark may be a kind man in general, but when it came to my family, his mind was made up. My father was a criminal who got what he deserved. Rhaegar was a coward who abandoned us. My mother was some poor damsel, forced into a loveless marriage. All people I'd never met in my life, but they were my family all the same and I loved them as such. Jon may be a Stark, but I would never be anything but a Targaryen. I didn't belong here, among the wolves.

When I returned, eyelids pink from feverishly rubbing away my tears, everyone's heads snapped toward me. I said “I'm sorry. I feel like I should leave. This wasn't a good idea.”

Jon stood again, only for Ned to order him back into his chair a second time. Then, he motioned his hand to my vacant chair. “Sit down, Daenerys. I apologize for being rude. I know that none of this is your fault. Please.”

Hesitantly, I walked back around the table and retook my seat. Glancing at Jon, he was looking as he had that day in detention when he found out he'd been wrong about who I was. It was hard to stay mad at him when he wore that look, a look of knowing he had hurt me and that he was going to try to make it up to me.

“I'll need to speak with both of you after dinner,” Ned said to us, then moved his eyes to scan his children. “I want all of you up in your rooms doing homework as soon as your plates are clear.”

Dinner wouldn't last much longer, but it felt like an eternity. I wasn't hungry at all, but I forced myself to eat just enough to not seem rude. I noticed Jon doing the same. As soon as the servants rounded up our dirty dishes, Catelyn lead her children up the stairs, except for Robb who remained in his seat just as Ned, Jon and I had. 

Catelyn never returned, and Ned moved to sit in a chair directly in front of me and Jon. The interview was beginning, with Robb sitting off to the side, observing. 

“How long has this been going on exactly?” asked Ned. 

Jon answered “January. But, we met my first day at school.” 

With a deep sigh, Ned raised his hand to stroke his chin, the frown prominent on his face. “I wish you would have told me about this as soon as it started. Before it started, really.”

“Would you have told me to break up with her?”

Without hesitation when Ned replied “Yes.”

“Then I'm glad I didn't tell you,” Jon stated. “I know that you didn't like her family, but you said it yourself, none of it was her fault. She wasn't even alive. A child is not responsible for the mistakes of their parents. That's what you told me, right? Look, I know that I'm not good at showing it, but I'm really grateful for everything you've done for me since my mom died. I also know that I'm asking a lot from you now, but I assure you, no one is more deserving of a little compassion and the fucking – sorry – benefit of the doubt, than Daenerys. She's a good person and she's so smart. She's probably going to walk on Mars one day. I don't know if she has any interest in walking on Mars, but if anyone could do it, she could. Most importantly, though, I love her so much that I'm willing to beg you to let her stay here with me for just a little while, until she goes to school in August. You can set whatever rules you want and we'll follow them, although preferably she would sleep in my room with me --”

At that, Robb let a chuckle escape before quickly composing himself again. Meanwhile, my cheeks had been beet red since Jon mentioned Mars. 

“-- but whatever chores you want done, I'll do them. Whatever price I have to pay to get you to let her stay, then I'll pay it. Metaphorically, of course, because I don't have a job yet, but I'll definitely start looking for a job.”

“Are you pregnant?” Ned then asked me. 

“No,” I answered quickly and emphatically. 

“Are you lying?”

“No.”

“She isn't pregnant,” Jon insisted. “We always use condoms.”

Embarrassment turning to total mortification, I raised my hands to cover my cheeks. And I wasn't the only one uncomfortable. Ned had winced slightly and Robb had stood up, walking to the doorway, before changing his mind, turning back to face us and leaning a shoulder against the wall. 

“Are you leaving?” Ned asked his son.

“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head, and I wondered how much resolve he had left. I was sure running short. 

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled in my direction, moving his hand to my back again, but this time the action wasn't comforting at all. It just added to my humiliation. I forgot for a moment that I loved him and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to run away.

But then Ned looked at me and asked “Do you have anything to say about this?” and I knew I couldn't let him win. He could refuse to help me, I was fine with that, but he would not succeed in getting me to give up on Jon. 

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, straightened my back and said “I don't want to ask you for help, Mr. Stark. I really don't want anything from you or your family, but I don't have very many options right now. I don't know if you're like everyone else and think that I somehow acquired all the money my dad stole, but it isn't true. I have nothing. I've always had nothing. After my mom died, I was in foster care and group homes for fourteen years, sometimes with my brother, Viserys, and sometimes without. Bad things happened to me in some of those places, sometimes by strangers and sometimes by my brother. When Viserys was twenty-one, he adopted me, and we lived together for almost a year, but he would always get drunk and kick me out, so I was emancipated at fifteen. I've been living on my own ever since, but I lost my job last week. I never made enough money to be able to save much of anything, or even to buy a cheap car or else I would gladly live in that before asking you for help, believe me. I'll be going to Caltech in the fall. I just don't have anyplace to go until then.”

Ned opened his mouth to speak, but I suddenly decided I wasn't finished. 

“And I just want to say,” I proceeded, “that this is one of the most humiliating afternoons of my entire life, sitting here with you while you judge me, but I would do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that for the rest of my life if it meant that every day, Jon would be sitting next to me telling you that he loves me, because I love him too. My whole life, people have treated me like a disease, never wanting to get too close. No one at school will talk to me unless it's to taunt me. They're all too scared someone will see them talking to a Targaryen. Even your daughter, Sansa – who I think is very lovely – pretended like we had just met today, because she was too embarrassed that we had already spoken at school. Jon's never been too embarrassed to speak to me. He's never treated me like a Targaryen. He treats me like I'm me and I just wish you could do the same.”

“Daenerys, I'm sure you are a good person and I don't doubt that you care for my nephew. I wish that things could be different. I wish that he had told me about his feelings before either of you could get hurt, but here we are. This situation brings me absolutely no joy. I would love to help you, but with that being said, there is just no way you can move into this house, because there is no way that you can remain in a romantic relationship with Jon.”

Jon's fist hit the table top, causing the salt and pepper shakers to dance. “This is fucking ridiculous --”

“Jon --” Robb tried, but Jon paid him no attention. 

“-- If she can't move in, then that's fine. We'll figure something else out. But you can't sit there and tell me who I can and cannot be with. She's not in the mob. She's not a Hell's Angel. She's just a girl. A beautiful girl who loves numbers and animals and cheap food and me. What is so wrong with that?”

“She's your family,” Ned said. 

“Yes, that's what I'm trying to tell you. She's my family. She belongs with me. I need her.”

I blinked damp eyes at Jon's profile. He wasn't shouting, but he was speaking louder than I'd ever heard him speak before. He was mad, but something else too. Afraid, maybe. Afraid, like me. Afraid that somehow Ned would win. This time, I raised my hand to his back, trying to calm his tense shoulders in slow circular strokes. 

“Jon,” Robb repeated, his calm voice the first to fill a minute long silence, and this time Jon turned to look at his cousin. “Just listen to him.”

Strangely, Robb looked sad, maybe on the verge of tears himself, but he sniffled and sucked all his feelings back in. Even more strange, when I looked back to Ned, he also seemed taken, but was much better at trying to hide it. 

After a few moments, Ned began “When I was just out of law school, I started working for my father's firm. He had been working on a case for the FBI, helping to prosecute a man for fraud, a man who'd stolen more money in ten years than my family ever had, and we've always been a very well off family. Old money, as I'm sure is obvious. The man my father and I were helping to prosecute, was Aerys Targaryen --”

Jon said “I thought this had nothing to do with Aerys --”

“Just let me finish,” Ned insisted gently. “Like my father, Aerys had a son working with him, who was complicit in everything Aerys did. That was Rhaegar Targaryen, about the same age as myself. We faced some hiccups during trial. Suspicious hiccups. Somehow, the defense knew things about our strategy that they shouldn't have. In the end, it didn't matter, but for a time, I was sure that we were going to lose. That Rhaegar would walk, and possibly even Aerys. I came to learn that they were being fed information by someone on our side. Not by one of our attorneys, or by anyone working specifically on the case, but someone who had access to our files nonetheless. Apparently, my sister, Lyanna – your mother, Jon – had been spying for the Targaryens. For Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“That's why you hated her?” Jon muttered in disbelief. “Because she fucked up your case?”

Ned took in an uneven breath, regret in his gray eyes. “I confronted her and told her that whatever arrangement she had with Rhaegar needed to end. She told me. . . She told me she was in love with him, that they were going to get married as soon as the trial was over, and that she was pregnant with his child. I told her I didn't care. I told her that if she was truly pregnant with Rhaegar's baby, she'd be better off getting rid of it. I never should have said that and I hate myself for saying it, but I can't pretend like it didn't happen. The case. . . The situation was. . . I was. . .” He trailed off, never to finish the thought.

My hand dropped from Jon's back. All was silent except the booming thump of my heartbeat in my ears. My toes felt numb and my head filled with fog. I almost missed it when Ned eventually repeated “She's your family, Jon. Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Daenerys is your aunt by blood. You can't be with her.”

The world was so out of focus. Everything was spinning and I wished dearly just to lie down and sleep and wake back up yesterday, before any of this happened. 

“You knew about this?” Jon's shaky voice asked, but I didn't understand who he was speaking to until I heard Robb's voice answer:

“Dad told me last night.”

The chair scratched against the marble floor as Jon stood up.

“Jon,” I said, looking up at him. I wanted to assure him that I had no idea, that I couldn't have known. I wanted to tell him that I still loved him, that even if this was true, it didn't change how I felt about him. I was always good at science. I would tell him that it wasn't that big of a deal. This didn't have to mean anything. 

But, when he looked back at me, his expression just about killed me right then and there. It was shock, but more than that. Shame and disgust. A look I took to mean that he wished he'd never met me, that I had ruined him. He'd been having sex with his aunt and it was all my fault. He had fallen in love with his father's sister and he would never be the same again. There was no coming back from something like that. 

That was when he left me. Literally. He averted his eyes from me and walked out. Out of the dining room and out of the house. Ned got up and followed him, but I knew he wouldn't be able to get his nephew back inside. Nephew. Ned's nephew. . . My nephew. My brother had fathered a son, and he was Jon. The thought made me sick to my stomach and I couldn't blame Jon for feeling the same. But even through the anger and confusion and pain, I wasn't the one who left. He was. 

For a long, silent minute, I remained sitting at the table, unable to move. I was crying but it was the kind of crying where the tears fall like rain while the body stays perfectly still, almost dead. Then Robb was beside me, taking the seat that Jon had vacated, sitting sideways to face me, his knees almost touching my leg. 

“My dad wanted me to give this to you,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. 

When I didn't take it, he slid it onto my lap and I looked down. It was an envelope. I picked it up slowly, lifted the un-sealed lip and pulled out its contents. A check, made out to Daenerys Targaryen, for five-thousand dollars, signed and dated. 

“If it's not enough --”

“I don't want this,” I croaked, bringing a hand up to cover my mouth as a sob escaped. 

“I'm sorry,” Robb said quietly and I felt his hand on my back, where Jon would put his. 

I flinched away from his touch and stood. “Don't touch me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“And I don't want this.” I slid the check back into the envelope before tearing the whole thing in half. I dropped the two halves on the table. “I don't want anything from your family. It's just as fucking toxic as mine.”

I stormed off toward the door, Robb calling after me “At least let me arrange a ride home for you!” but if I wasn't going to accept money that would keep me from living on the streets, I wasn't going to accept a ride home from one of his servants. 

Once out the front door, I ran. I didn't know where Jon went, or if Ned had found him, but neither were in front of the house, which was a good thing. I didn't want to see any of them. I just wanted to run. So I ran to the nearest bus stop, which was at least two miles away, and went home, sweaty, sobbing, and heart broken, wondering what in the world I would say to Jon tomorrow at school.


	7. Chapter 7

The paper where my fingers pinched the check became damp with sweat despite the chilly room temperature. A tear had slipped from my cheek to land on the memo line where Robb had scribbled “Take care of yourself cuz.” I couldn't even allow myself a chuckle at the irony. I lowered the checks back into the kitchen drawer and pushed it shut. When my water glass was empty, I set it by the sink and padded across the hall to the bathroom, larger than mine but more old fashioned with tile instead of linoleum floors, a porcelain pedestal sink instead of a cheap plywood vanity, and a rusted claw-foot tub surrounded by a blue shower curtain instead of a skinny shower stall with a glass door. A little window above the toilet gave the room some morning light. I peed, then washed my hands and looked for mouth wash or maybe even an unopened toothbrush. 

In the medicine cabinet, the first thing I saw were pill bottles. Lots of them. I couldn't help myself. I turned the bottles one by one so I could see each label. Heavy duty pain killers, not yet finished, but the bottles hadn't been refilled in months. An empty bottle of antibiotics. Klonopin, unfinished, recently refilled. 

“Hey.”

With a start, I flipped around. Jon stood in the doorway in only his boxers, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. 

“Hi,” I replied softly. “Sorry. I was snooping a little.”

“It's okay.” He stepped into the bathroom and put his arms around me. I returned the embrace with my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his stale morning scent like it was a newly bloomed rose.

“We take the same anxiety meds.”

He chuckled against my hair. “It's almost like we're related or something.”

Leaning back, I gave him a pointed look, though my mouth was smiling. “So we're making jokes about it now? I suppose that's progress.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.” I pulled Jon close again, hands splayed across his back. “We should be able to talk about it with each other. I don't like it, but I don't want to pretend with you either. We can't change who we are.” 

My face turned warm as I stood against him, feeling my eyes begin to water again. His hand smoothed down my hair behind my head in slow strokes.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My family.” I sniffled, but that couldn't keep the first tear from falling. “My mom. My dad. Rhaegar. Do you think he really loved your mother?”

A stretch of silence was Jon's response and I wanted to take back the question. I leaned back against the sink and brought my arms around myself instead, but Jon's hand never left my hair, sliding down to twist the ends around his fingers.

“I don't know,” he eventually said. “I don't think my mom would have loved someone who didn't deserve it, though.”

“I hope you're right. I know he did bad things, but I don't want to believe he was a bad person. He must have been a little bit good, right?”

Jon nodded, but seemed unsure. I suppose we'd never be sure.

To break the solemn mood I'd started the day off with, I offered a small smile and said “I found your money drawer.”

His cheeks pinked as his head shook. “Robb. . . worries about me. And you know, in the Stark family, when you worry about someone, you send them money. He doesn't like me living on my own.”

“Has it been hard?”

“No. It's been nice being alone actually. Too nice. I think I want to be done with that now.”

Stepping forward, I brought my mouth to his, but before our lips could touch, I leaned back. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” 

He left the bathroom and managed to bring me back a brand new one, still in the package, from the closet of the tiny bedroom. We brushed our teeth side by side, and as mundane as the act was, it felt oddly intimate. A glimpse into what life would be like if I finally got to live with Jon Snow. Then we showered together – just showering, aside from the occasional open-mouthed kiss under the spray of water. I turned my back to Jon and he washed my hair. I wondered how long it would take to grow to the length it was in high school. Jon wouldn't say it, but I knew he preferred it long, and so did I.

After toweling off and throwing on a t-shirt and track pants, Jon told me he was going downstairs to smoke. I nodded and kissed him before he went, then began to dress myself, putting on my same khaki pants from yesterday but stealing one of Jon's black hoodies instead of wearing my Martell's yellow polo shirt. I had work again at noon, but I made the executive decision to call in sick. I wasn't sure if Daario believed me or not on the phone, but I didn't really care. Normally, fake-calling in sick would have given me a panic attack, but this time I was as calm as could be, because I knew that once I hung up, I would get to spend the rest of the day, and night, with Jon.

After sliding my phone into my pocket and slipping on my sneakers, I decided to get some air myself and left the apartment, heading down the stairs and through the secondary front door that lead out to the stoop in front of the building. Jon was sitting at the top of the steps, flicking ashes into a Folgers can. When I shut the door behind me, he turned and offered me a smile. 

“You're so beautiful,” he told me as I sat down beside him. My arm went around his and I rested my cheek on the curve of his shoulder. 

“Hush.”

After Jon put out his cigarette, we remained on the stoop, sitting together in comfortable silence. A man in pajamas was walking his dog across the street. A couple of joggers were on their way toward the nearest path to the beach. Light Sunday morning traffic interrupted the songs of birds perched in trees along the sidewalk. A few minutes went by before Jon said “I've been thinking about something.”

“That's a good sign,” I gently teased.

“I've been thinking that we should get married. If we get married, I can transfer my G. I. Bill to you and you can go back to school for free.”

And that was how Jon Snow proposed to me. Sitting on the steps outside his apartment, eyes watching the world in front of us with his hand holding mine. I lifted my head and blinked at him, wondering if he had taken some of those pain pills without me noticing, but he looked calm and when he turned to me, his eyes were clear and unwavering. 

“Jon. . .” My heart did a flip in my chest. “I don't need you to pay for me to go to school. That's not what I want. I don't want anything from you except you.”

“If we're going to be together, you're going to get things from me, Daenerys. That's just how it works.”

“I don't have anything to give you.”

“That's a joke, right?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple. “When you're making bank as a world famous whatever it is you want to be, I'll finally get to fulfill my lifelong dream of being the world's sexiest domesticated househusband.”

I snorted a laugh, grinning ear to ear.

“Besides,” Jon continued, voice turning serious again, “I wouldn't be paying for it. The Army would be paying for it. I almost died for those assholes. I had to watch friends die for them, and watch them die all over again almost every fucking night while I sleep. The least they can do is pay for you to go to school. You were always supposed to go to school.”

I slid my hand out of his so that I could put my arm around his back. “That money is supposed to be for you, Jon. You deserve it more than I do.”

“That's not true. And either way, I'm not going to college. I don't want to go to college. I never did.” A corner of his mouth lifted as he said “I'm an Assistant Team Leader at Whole Foods. Full-time. Twenty whole dollars an hour. I've got a 401k account and health insurance. Not to brag or anything, but I'm doing alright for myself, even without a degree. . . If you don't want to marry me, though, I would understand.”

“I've wanted to marry you since high school,” I said softly. “We can't, though. We never can. It. . . It isn't legal.”

“Who would know?”

“Your uncle. Robb. Whoever else they told. Sam, if you told him.”

“They would never tell anyone. And I never told Sam. I never told anyone. Not even those psychiatrists I had to see while I was in the hospital.”

“What about the DNA test?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

* * * * *

I hadn't even known about a DNA test until days after that evening at the Stark residence. It was a Saturday and I had spent the whole morning pacing around my apartment, trying to find anything I could sell that would earn me some decent money. Unfortunately, the only thing I owned of real value was my laptop, which I needed to complete my final class projects and also as a method of finding quick jobs. I had posted ads for everything from babysitting to dog walking to house cleaning. Anything that would give me an immediate paycheck. 

There was a knock on my door and it startled me because no one ever knocked on my door unless I was expecting a maintenance guy. Of course, I usually scheduled those visits for when I wouldn't be home, leaving a key under the 'Welcome' mat, preferring the possibility of being robbed to the possibility of something worse happening while alone in my apartment with a stranger. When I opened the door, however, it wasn't a middle aged man standing in the hallway. It was Jon. 

This was the first time I'd seen him since we sat at Ned Stark's table. He hadn't been at school and I knew it was because he didn't want to see me. Despite my nerves, I had asked Sam if he'd heard from Jon, worrying beyond worry that Jon had told his friend what had happened. 

“Some sort of family crisis,” Sam had replied, and his expression suggested that he wasn't lying for my benefit. “He didn't really elaborate, but I don't think he's coming back. I'm surprised he didn't tell you.”

“I think that we broke up,” I replied before quickly leaving the conversation to find a private place to cry. 

Family emergency indeed. It was emergent that he stay away from me, his family member, less he be reminded of all the things we had done together – all those things once viewed as signs of affection between young lovers, now warped into something sinister and taboo. Our relationship was now a character flaw. I was the perverted aunt, and he the molested nephew. Did it not matter that we were ignorant? Were we not redeemable? Was I a monster for loving him still, for wanting to be with him regardless? Was my attraction to him romantically and physically supposed to vanquish just like that? Apparently, his had.

But then he came to my door that Saturday and he looked sad and nervous and like he hadn't slept in days, and the optimistic part of me wondered if he had come to apologize and take me in his arms, to tell me it was okay and that we would figure this out together. 

The first words out of his mouth after I let him inside, though, were “Apparently my uncle had a DNA test done just after I was born.”

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say in response to that, so I replied with a change of subject. “You haven't been at school.”

“No, I'm taking all of my finals independently. My uncle set it up. I've decided to actually try, though, so I'm pretty sure I'll be able to graduate at least. Which is good, because you have to have a high school diploma to enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I'm going to join the Army. As soon as I have my diploma.” 

I had been so shocked I barely understood the words the first time he spoke them, but after the second time, it felt like the room was spinning. This was the opposite of what I had planned for us. We were supposed to stay together. Me at Caltech, him working or starting at a city college, us spending every weekend together until we could afford to get a nice apartment of our own. I knew that Jon was horrified by what we'd learned the other day, but I hadn't thought he was so disgusted by me that he needed to join an organization that would take him to another side of the planet for however many years. 

“Don't,” was all my voice could get out. 

“I have to.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do, Daenerys. I can't be here anymore. I need to be somewhere else, away from everyone.”

“Away from me.”

I wanted him to say no, even if it was a lie, but Jon had never lied to me. “Yes,” he confirmed. 

Quickly, I turned around, hand covering my mouth as tears began to fall. That was when I realized that this would be the last time I'd ever see Jon. I had fallen in love, and now it was ending. I thought back to that popular saying about how experiencing a true love was worth all the pain. In that moment, I disagreed. I wished I had never met Jon. Because now I was ruined, doomed to love a man who couldn't even stand to live on the same continent as me.

Facing the wall, I said “You don't have to go. You hate me now, and that's okay. I won't call you or text you, and if I ever see you I'll turn and walk the other way. You don't have to go.”

“I'm not leaving because I hate you. I'm leaving because I love you.”

Maybe the words should have eased my suffering, but they didn't. They made me confused and angry on top of all the sad. I turned to face him and met his eyes. They were red like mine, but he was doing a better job of keeping in his tears.

“If you love me, then stay. Stay with me.”

“Stay?” he asked. “Didn't you hear me? There's a DNA test. We're related. You're my aunt, Daenerys. My fucking aunt.”

“It doesn't matter!”

“How can it not fucking matter?!”

It was the first and only time I'd ever heard him yell, and it was to yell at me. I felt my body wilting, dying. Jon turned away from me this time, wiping at his face where his emotions had finally won over. 

“Why did you even come here?” I asked, voice turning dull and quiet. “To hurt me?”

It took him a few moments to turn back to me. When he did, his hand slid from his pocket and out with it, came an envelope. I knew what it was the second the white paper came into view, but I decided to give Jon the benefit of the doubt, one last time. Maybe it wasn't what I knew it was. So, I let him hand it to me. But when I lifted the flap and pulled out the slip of paper inside, it may as well have been a Polaroid of him fucking another girl, because I felt just as betrayed, staring at a replica of the check I had refused to take from Robb. Just imagining the conversation that must have taken place after I left that evening made me sick to my stomach. Jon, Robb and Ned all sitting around the table discussing the sad case of Daenerys Targaryen – the pathetic little girl accidentally fucked her nephew if you can believe that, and now she's going to be homeless if we don't throw her a few bucks. 

A tear slid from the apple of my cheek to stain a wet circle over the “five” in five-thousand just before I tore it up into little pieces. I heard Jon groan, no doubt thinking of how he would have to ask Ned for a fresh check. 

“Daenerys, please,” he tried, exasperated, but I was done listening to him. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” I told him, the little paper pieces falling from my hands to the carpet like confetti. 

“Daenerys.” He took a step closer to me. 

“I said, get the fuck out!” I demanded, shoving him away from me. “I don't want your fucking money! Get out of my apartment and don't come back! You're a fucking piece of shit like everyone else! All I wanted was you and you give me money! You said you needed me! You're a fucking liar!”

“I didn't lie. I do need you,” he said quickly, as I shoved him closer to the door. “That's why I have to go. I need to figure out how to stop needing you, Daenerys. I love you.”

“Well, I hate you!” I turned to my bed to where my Harvard sweatshirt was laid out, picked it up and shoved it against Jon's chest while I pushed him the rest of the way to the door. “You can have this back, too. You don't want me. Harvard doesn't want me. You can both fucking rot.”

I pulled the door open, and pushed Jon out of it. 

“Daenerys --” he tried once more. 

I interrupted him, shouting “Eat shit and die!” before slamming the door in his face. I fell to my knees, sobbing into my hands as quietly as I could, which wasn't quiet at all. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I whispered while I cried, but I wasn't saying it to Jon anymore. I was saying it to myself. 

* * * * *

“There would be, like, a paper trail, or whatever, right?” I asked. “If there was a DNA test then that means that some lab somewhere has a record of analyzing our DNA.”

Jon shook his head. “Ned had it done discreetly. No names. Just samples. Mine and your brother's.”

While I was curious to know how Ned Stark had attained Rhaegar's DNA, it wasn't important enough to me to ask. Instead, I said “Ned would never let you marry me. He would tell someone if it meant keeping you away from me.”

“I'll talk to him.”

I laughed, genuine. “Remember what happened the last time you told me you'd talk to Ned?”

Smiling a bit bashfully, Jon nodded. 

“We don't have to get married. We can still be together forever without getting married. I promise I'll go back to school. A state school and I'll apply for scholarships and aid.” 

“My mom never got to marry the person she loved,” Jon then said. “I don't want us to be like them. I want us to be better. We deserve better. We never hurt anyone. My uncle will see that. I know he will.”

I wasn't sure why, after everything, but I believed him. 

But then, like a divine intervention sent to destroy me once again, a black Lincoln pulled up in front of the building, causing Jon to mutter “This isn't good.”

When a man with a face I recognized, though older now, emerged from the driver's side door, I felt like I did sitting at that dining room table six years ago, like everything was about to come to an end. Jon stood and so did I, reflexively separating myself from my boyfriend – fiancee? – and shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets. Robb stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at his cousin, then at me. Even with surprise evident in his eyes and mouth as he took in the sight of me and Jon together again, Robb looked even more sophisticated and proper than the last time I saw him. I figured he'd be done with school by now and already started a fancy career, maybe following in his father's and grandfather's footsteps by becoming an attorney. 

“Dany,” he said. “You cut your hair.”

Resisting the urge to bite a nail, I replied “Yes, but I'm growing it out again.”

He simply nodded, then turned his attention to Jon. “You haven't been answering my calls lately.”

“Yeah, I've been working a lot.”

“That's good. You're still not cashing the checks either.”

“I told you I wasn't going to.”

I had to try not to smile. It wasn't that I resented Robb – I never blamed him for anything – but it was nice to see Jon stand up for himself the way I had to. 

Apprehensively, Robb climbed the steps, asking “Can we talk?”

Jon looked to me. 

“I'll wait here. It's fine,” I told him. No matter what Robb had to say to Jon, I wasn't going to stand in the way of it happening. Like Jon said, we never hurt anyone. I would never try to turn Jon against his family the way Rhaegar seemed to do to Lyanna. 

“We won't be long,” Robb assured without making eye contact.

Before Jon lead Robb up to his apartment, he put his hand on my hip and kiss me. Gentle, but lingering, loving, a kiss that could only be interpreted as romantic in nature. I wasn't sure if it was a show for Robb or an act of reassurance for me, but I was content either way, because either way, the kiss said that I was special to Jon and that nothing Robb would say to him upstairs would change anything between us. Still, though, I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified the entire length of time I spent sitting on that stoop, watching the sun inch higher into the sky, checking Facebook on my phone for the first time in a year, wondering if any of my 43 “friends” would notice if I changed my status to 'In a Relationship.'

Fifteen minutes later, the outer front door to Jon's apartment opened once more. In my unease, I stood again, wrapping my arms around myself like the air was colder than it was. 

“It was good seeing you again, Dany.” Robb managed a glance at me before descending the steps. Before he reached his car, though, I found my feet following him quickly. 

“Robb,” I said after him.

Somewhat startled, he turned to face me. I noticed how much he looked like Ned now, but that didn't intimidate me. 

“I'll make him answer your calls,” I said. “But, you don't have to worry so much. I'll take care of him for you.”

He smiled, even chuckled a bit, the awkward tension receding. “Alright. Well, good. He's my only cousin, you know. I thought you were going to ask me what I said to him.”

“I think I have an idea. I'm more interested to know what Jon said in response.” 

“It was pretty much the same thing he told me last month. Something along the lines of – Whether I'm with her or not, she's the love of my life, and nothing will ever change that.”

My cheeks flushed pink and my nose scrunched as I smiled bashfully down at my feet. After a moment, I picked my head back up and asked “Last month?” 

“Yeah, he called me at almost midnight on Valentine's Day, completely interrupting my wife and I during – you know – saying that he talked to you again. He wanted my advice, and I gave it, but obviously he went and did the opposite.” 

The information made my smile widen. “I know you don't approve, but --”

“It's not that I don't approve,” he interrupted calmly. “I like you. I've never not liked you, even in high school when everyone seemed to not like you. Even being a Stark knowing you were a Targaryen. But. . . You know. . . You and Jon together, knowing what I know. . . It feels weird.”

“I know. But you should know that however weird it feels for you, it feels a thousand times more weird for us. So imagine how much we must love each other to be able to deal with it in order to be together. And then imagine how you might feel if you suddenly found out your wife was your aunt.”

Robb broke out in awkward laughter, bringing his hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do not want to imagine that.”

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. We actually have a baby now, too. Named after my father, but we all call him Eddie.”

“That's amazing,” I said wistfully, trying not to think about my own baby. “I wanted to ask you a favor actually. You probably tell your wife everything, as you should, but could you just not tell her that Jon and I are. . . you know? Could you not tell anyone?”

After a moment, Robb asked “Will you make Jon cash those checks?”

“You know I'm not going to do that.”

“Yeah, I know. I would never tell anyone anyway. It was never really any of my business. And even if I would, I suppose I owe you a favor.”

He didn't, but I nodded anyway. 

After he had climbed back into his sleek sedan, I rejoined Jon at the top of the porch where he'd been waiting for me, partaking in another cigarette. 

“Will you marry me if I quit smoking?” he asked once the smoke had left his parted lips.

I hugged him tight, breathing him in. I didn't mind the tobacco smell actually. I found it warm and quaint like a hearth in a log cabin or a grandfather's library while he lets you pick out any book you want, but I wasn't going to tell Jon that because I was going to need him to quit eventually, if he was going to live a long, happy life with me.

“I'll marry you if you buy me breakfast. Bonus points if it's waffles,” I answered, then pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“What are the bonus points on top of marriage?”

I pursed my lips and averted my eyes to give off the impression of deep contemplation before replying “Lots of sex?”

Dropping his half-smoked cigarette into the Folgers can, Jon excitedly exclaimed “Waffles it is.”


	8. Epilogue

*SIX YEARS LATER*

Standing among my peers, shaking hands and bidding farewells to those I hope to see again but possibly never will, my eyes keep wandering out into the crowd around me, trying to find familiar faces in a sea of blue robes. Finally, as I finish posing for a now-former classmate's selfie, I see Jon, sidestepping through clusters of rejoicing grads. He is missing the blazer he'd left home in and the first two buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned. 

“Told you you'd be too hot in that jacket,” I say to him with a small smirk as his arms go around me and mine around him.

He kisses me. “You've always been smarter than me. And now you have the degree to prove it.”

While I had powered through undergrad, finishing in only a year as a transfer student, veterinary school proved much more taxing, especially having attended one of the best schools for veterinary medicine in the country. Today, I am overjoyed by my achievements, and at being able to kiss UC Davis and my career as a college student goodbye. Now I will enter the job market, interviewing for positions in veterinary clinics that will be a suitable fit for me and my family. Thankfully, with Jon's writing career taking off the way it is, we won't be starving while I find work. 

As a few acquaintances pass us, I quickly introduce them to Jon. “This is my husband, Jon Snow,” I tell them with a bright smile. I'll never not love saying those words. Jon shakes hands with my former classmates one by one, greeting them politely. 

“Wait, Jon, where's Ella?” I ask hastily, pulse jumping at the sudden realization that we are missing someone, but just as I'm beginning to panic, I see a shock of long red hair moving toward us. I let out a sigh of relief, because in Sansa's arms is my little girl, Rhaella Snow, in the shimmery red dress I bought her, her dark chocolate hair braided down her back like mine and her big blue eyes shining like sapphires. 

“Mutti!” She squeals, smile wide and arm outstretched toward me. She used to call me Mama, but switched to Mutti a few months ago when Jon began teaching her German.

“Hi, pretty girl,” I say as I take my daughter from Sansa and give her a big, pronounced, smooch on the cheek, making her scrunch her nose and laugh one of her squeaky laughs. When she begins to squirm, I set her down beside Jon's legs. “Hold Daddy's hand, okay?”

“Vati!” she corrects while taking Jon's hand in both of her little ones. Jon winks down at her. She sticks her tongue out at him. It's their thing. He winks, she sticks her tongue out. Four years ago, just after Ella was born, Jon told me his goal in life was to make sure she grows up to be even smarter than me, and even funnier than him. So far, I'd say he's succeeding. 

“Thank you so much for coming!” I tell Sansa as I bring her into an embrace. “Jon told me you were going to try to make it, but I know the drive from LA can be killer.”

Pushing her sunglasses atop her head, Sansa gives me an exasperated look. “You have no idea, Dany. I'm just grateful I survived.”

My eyebrows furrow curiously, but before I can ask for details, I realize she isn't the only Stark who made the trip. 

One by one, I am greeted with big hugs from Robb and his wife, Talisa – their son, Eddie, apparently left at home under the watchful care of Grandma Catelyn – then Arya, Bran, and Rickon. All young adults now. Lastly, and surprising me the most, I am greeted by Ned, gray-haired and wrinkled, but looking no less strong than when I first met him twelve years ago.

“Congratulations, Daenerys,” he says, and there is a warmness in his eyes and sincerity in his small smile. Ned and I still aren't exactly close, but after almost six years of marriage to Jon and four years of being the mother to a little girl he loves dearly, I could see him slowly but surely coming around to the fact that the Starks and Targaryens are now one family.

“Groꞵvati!” squeals Ella from behind me before shooting away from Jon to grab onto Ned's leg.

“Gross? Are you calling me gross?” Ned asks down at her in the cooing, excitable voice he tends to use with her. 

Ella had been calling Ned her grandfather since she could speak. It happened naturally, and no one ever corrected her. We'd taught her that Ned and Catelyn were not her actual grandparents, but told her she should call them whatever she feels is right, so they are Grandpa and Grandma – now Groꞵvati and Groꞵmutti – and they treat her like she's as much their grandchild as Eddie is. It was the same with the Stark kids. We'd taught Ella that they were Jon's cousins, but that didn't stop her from calling them her Aunties and Uncles – she hasn't made the switch to the German versions yet.

“I can't believe you're all here.” My eyes scan the Stark brood. Being the emotional mess I've been lately, I probably would have cried had it not been for the thousand or so people surrounding us still.

“We show up for family,” Ned answers and I give him a cheeky smile, knowing that he means it, even if it's still strange for him. “Now let's go get some lunch.”

The Starks all cheer at the suggestion and I am actually quite famished myself despite having eaten Pop-Tarts out of the pocket of my graduation robe during the ceremony. 

We are instructed to meet up at one of the fanciest restaurants in Davis – Ned Stark always had a knack for finding luxury wherever he went and somehow already has a list of suitable establishments memorized.

Walking to our car, Jon has his hand in mine as we watch Ella skipping ahead of us, waving her hands up at the butterflies circling above. The most beautiful girl on the planet. That was what Jon thought I was when he saw me in Chemistry twelve years ago. I never really understood the weight of that until Ella. If Jon had looked at me and felt only half of what I feel looking at my daughter, it would still be more love and longing than I ever thought possible. 

It would be a lie to say I had not worried about having children with Jon. Not only because of our relation, but because of what happened with my first pregnancy. That being said, Ella wasn't an accident. Despite my fears and our shared trepidation, I wanted a baby with Jon and he wanted one with me, so we decided not to use any birth control during a window of time where, if I conceived, I would give birth during the Summer after finishing my undergrad degree, but before starting my graduate program at UC Davis. We must be very fertile people, because after just casually attempting to conceive, the pee stick turned up positive only four weeks after having my IUD removed. Throughout my pregnancy, I would have nightmares about history repeating itself and briefly wondered if I was really ready to face childbirth again. Jon made finding the strength easier, though, and on the day I went into labor, our daughter was born healthy and smiling. The best day of my life.

At the car, Jon buckles Ella into her car seat while I tug off my graduation robe and hat, tossing them both in the trunk. 

“Wow,” Jon says after Ella is situated, eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You look incredible.” 

I glance down at myself in the white sun dress I'd bought the same day I bought Ella's. It was light and short with spaghetti straps. I had been worried that the robe would make me sweat under the Summer sun, which it did. “You don't think I look fat?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip and tasting lipstick. 

Stepping close to me, Jon answers “No. You look so beautiful.” His palm flattens over the gentle curve of my belly as his mouth meets mine in a deep kiss, his short beard tickling my nose and his tongue tasting of citrus gum. 

Like I said, we are very fertile. This time, it was an accident. I'd switched from an IUD to the pill only to find out three months later I was one month pregnant. I believe that it was meant to be, though. I use to say I wanted two kids by the time I turned thirty, and according to my doctor, our new little one is due just two months shy of my thirtieth birthday.

I suddenly want to ditch lunch and go straight home, put Ella down for a nap so that Jon and I can “take a nap” ourselves. But it's good that the Starks are here. Jon had probably planned it this way. He knew that I would appreciate them coming to watch me graduate, but this also presents the perfect opportunity to tell them what we found out at my last check up just a week ago, that I'm carrying another girl, a little sister for Ella. “Lyanna Targaryen Snow,” I'd said to Jon as soon as the doctor revealed our baby's sex. I hadn't even gotten all the ultrasound goo off my abdomen. We hadn't discussed names yet, but Jon had simply nodded in agreement. The way his eyes glistened and the corners of his mouth twitched, I could tell it meant a lot to him. 

Breaking the kiss, Jon tells me “I knew you could do this, because you can do anything, but I'm still really proud of you, Daenerys.”

“Thanks,” I reply bashfully, thinking that we could be married for fifty years and I would still blush every time Jon Snow complements me. 

Jon takes me in his arms again and we hold each other for a long minute, his cheek resting on the side of my head, and his hand on the back of my right shoulder, where in two-inch cursive letters, I have tattooed “Snow” in black and blue, and a sparkle of silver.

“Time to feed my girls,” Jon says when we part. 

I climb into the passenger seat. Jon is our driver. Always. Though I had finally renewed my drivers license, I only really drove when Jon was out of town, and never with Ella in the car, unless it was an emergency. As soon as I found out I was pregnant again, I gave Jon the keys and never asked for them back. I'm not a shut-in, though. Our rental house is just two blocks from the nearest grocery store, one block from the public park, and less than a mile from campus. Jon never presses me too much to drive, but I've promised him still that I will practice driving more often after Leelee is born. 

“Lyanna. It was my idea. . but we're going to call her Leelee which was Jon's idea,” I say to the Starks as we eat lunch in a restaurant much too fancy for my liking. I push cranberries out of my salad and try to think up a polite way to request ketchup with my chicken.

Everyone gushes with excitement, even Ned, because after someone as perfect as Ella coming from me and Jon, how could he not feel excitement for another Targaryen granddaughter? The only person glum about the reveal was Auntie Sansa, who had been hoping for a boy since Robb stopped letting her use Eddie as a model for her children's fashion projects.

“She'll have the Targaryen hair. I can feel it,” Jon adds before taking a huge bite of his salad, and I know that the only reason he's eating so quickly is to avoid actually having to taste it. “I was right about Rhaella having Mom's hair. Leelee will have Daenerys's. Trust me on this.”

“He owes me twenty bucks if he's wrong,” I say. 

Rickon chimes in with “Isn't the whole point of being married that you can get twenty bucks off each other whenever you want?”

After a big gulp, Jon answers “Nah, it's the sex, man.”

Face turning bright red, I drop my fork against the crystal salad dish and gape at my husband while the entire Stark brood erupt in laughter. Even Ned cracked a smile.

“But you can have sex without getting married,” Rickon counters. 

“You can't,” Ned tells him pointedly.

“What's sex?!” Ella shouts, causing snooty patrons from adjacent tables to leer at us.

Hand over his mouth, Jon tries to keep from laughing too hard. I simply turn to my daughter, who sits in a booster seat right beside me, and tell her plainly “Sex is something your daddy is going to be doing all by himself for a very long time.”

Her little mouth tightens and her eyebrows raise. “Vati is in trouble.”

I nod and brush some of the crumbs from her dress. When I look back at Jon, I smile, because he isn't really in trouble. His arm goes around my shoulders and I lean into him. 

The rest of lunch is spent largely with Ned interrogating Jon about his work, wanting to know every detail of what his agent has been setting up for him and what sort of deals he is getting from the publishers. He doesn't want to see his nephew taken advantage of and I find that to be sweet, but the constant logistics talk bores me half to sleep. I much prefer discussing the contents of Jon's novels and his writing in general, to talk of money and creative rights.

Writing is the perfect career for Jon, not only because he is incredibly talented – more talented than he will ever understand – but also because it means Jon gets to work almost exclusively from home. While he isn't exactly a househusband, he did take care of Ella whenever I was at school and will continue to be a stay-at-home Dad, so to speak, after I find permanent employment. Things get tricky when he has to travel, but I make it work without much complaining, because if Jon being successful at something he loves means I have to use the toilet as a desk to do homework while I watch Ella bathe, I'm going to power through it.

Ned has a row of hotel rooms booked for all the Starks to stay in over night and Jon and I will eat breakfast with them in the morning before they head back to Los Angeles. Right now, though, all I want to do is go home and crawl into bed with Jon. Ned suggests taking Ella for the rest of the day, and I gratefully accept the offer. In just four months, we will have a newborn to take care of on top of our responsibilities to Ella, so any time I am able to be alone with Jon until then I treat like a second honeymoon. 

Once Ella's car seat is transferred into Ned's Tesla, I say goodbye to the Starks, then to my daughter with another smooch on her smooth cheek. 

Jon drives us home, to our quaint craftsman. It's cute with hardwood floors, forest green walls, a small backyard with a swing set, and most importantly, a dishwasher, but I am still looking forward to buying our own place once I settle on a job. Someplace North I hope, where it will snow every Winter. A little two-story log cabin on a five acre lot, trees everywhere except in the pasture where our future goats will graze, a small pond where Ella and Leelee will swim in the Summertime. I have it all planned out, but this time, it's all going to happen.

The first thing Jon does when we get inside is turn on the air conditioning while I go to the backdoor to let Ghost inside. Jon had brought home a three month old Husky puppy not long after we moved to Davis four years ago. “I had to get him, Daenerys,” he'd passionately explained. “He was born the same week as Rhaella. It's a sign.”

We didn't exactly fight that night, but I was frustrated at him that he hadn't given me a heads up. We'd moved our lives upstate only a month after I gave birth so that I could start veterinary school, we were still only half unpacked, and I was already pissed off from a long day of trying to pump my breast milk in between classes. And what was he doing all day? Getting a puppy. I could only remain mad at him for a couple hours, though. As soon as Ghost fell asleep in a spooning position against Ella's side, it was hard not to agree with Jon that this dog belonged with us. And, after all, a giant dog was always part of my plan. Now four years old, Ghost is the same age as Ella but the same size as myself. If he stood on his hind legs, he may actually be taller than me. A gentle giant, but a great watch dog for when Jon is out of town for some event related to the release of one of his books.

I kick off my flats and go into the kitchen to scoop out some dry food for him. While he eats, I go to the cupboards and start eating Birthday Cake Oreos from the package. Jon's arms wrap around me from behind and I feel his lips on my neck, then his tongue. I'm always hungry, but even more so, I'm always horny. Aside from immanent danger toward myself or my family, sex is probably the only thing that gets me to forget about food. So I shove the Oreo package back in the cupboard and turn around in Jon's arms, pressing my mouth to his in a deep and powerful kiss that leaves us both breathless when we finally part.

In a swift motion, Jon stoops slightly, puts one arm around my back, the other behind my knees and lifts me up. My arms wrap around his neck while he carries me to our bedroom, giggling with a pink sheen across my cheeks.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I unfasten Jon's belt while he removes his shirt. His shoes come off and I drop his belt to the floor. He's so hard already, his erection pressing against the fabric of his chinos. I pull the zipper down, then force his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock. When I wrap my hand around him and stroke, he lets out a soft moan, hand resting on the side of my head. When I wrap my mouth around him, he gasps, fingers clenching my hair where it is plaited behind my head.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, the same way he does when he can't find his phone. But as I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock while I suck, he follows it up with “Fuck, baby. You're so hot. I want to fuck you so bad.” He certainly doesn't say that when he loses his phone.

After reveling in his dirty talk for another minute, I pull away from him and move to the center of the bed where I pull my dress off over my head. My bra is off too by the time Jon is naked and crawling after me. I know that after having Ella, and being pregnant now, my body isn't as attractive as it was six years ago, or twelve years ago, but the way Jon's dark eyes caress me hungrily, I forget all about that. When Jon looks at me, there is no one more beautiful than me. The most beautiful girl on the planet.

He moves me onto my back and slides my panties off for me. My knees raise. I want him to have me. All of me. Right now.

“Hmm?” Jon hums as he moves between my legs. 

I realize I had said “Right now” out loud. Leaning up on my elbows, I run my tongue across my bottom lip and say “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says with a sweet smile, then kisses me soft on the mouth. 

That was the end of being sweet and soft, though. After that, he was lifting my leg over his hip, latching his mouth to my neck and pushing his cock all the way inside me. I moan and whimper, digging my fingers into his back as he slowly but surely begins to fuck me the way I like him to, hitting that special spot inside of me like a pro. I feel one of Ella's stuffed animals squeezed under my back, but I don't have time to worry about that. I raise a hand to Jon's head, weaving my fingers in his loose curls and bring him up so I can sweep my tongue inside his mouth. His fingers massage my swollen breast and when his fingers brush my hard nipples I'm left gasping against his open mouth. 

“Oh, God,” I breathe. “Make me cum, Jon.”

Those words were all he needed. After grazing my bottom lip between his teeth, he leans up, sitting back on his heels and lifting my ass up. One of Jon's hands squeezes my knee to keep my legs open for him, while the other slides down to my pussy. My muscles tense and my chest heaves as he fucks me even harder while his fingers rub circles against my clit. I slap both hands over my mouth to keep from crying out – a habit formed over years of trying to have sex while Ella sleeps in the adjacent bedroom.

I feel heat boiling under my skin. I'm so close. So close, and Jon's groans are growing louder and more sporadic, telling me he's almost there as well. We feed off each other. Knowing he's about to cum brings me even farther to the edge, and vice versa. My back arches and I'm nearly screaming against my sweaty palm when suddenly my already foggy eye line is bombarded by a flash of white. White fur, big red eyes and a long tongue darting out to taste the sweat on my forehead. 

“Ghost!” I shout, moving my hands from my mouth to shove our dog away from me. “Off the bed! Off!”

Ghost is so heavy he makes the side of the bed sink down as his legs dance for a few seconds before I manage to get him to turn and hop down to the floor.

“Shit,” Jon hissed under his breath just as he'd done when my mouth was on him. In my squirming to get Ghost off of me, his cock had slipped out of my pussy and now Jon just sits, shaking his head down at me. “Well, that was quite the finale.” 

“Why didn't you close the bedroom door?” I ask him, breathing fast and hard, eyes glaring. 

“Why didn't you leave Ghost outside?” he retorts before getting off the bed and leading Ghost out of our bedroom. 

“It's a million degrees outside! I'm not a monster!” As Jon finally shuts our door, with Ghost on the other side of it, I sit up to pull the stuffed bear from under me. After dropping it to the floor, I look down at myself. “Fuck, Jon, you came all over me!”

At that, Jon bursts out laughing, almost doubling over before he can crawl back onto our bed. I groan at the mess of white fluid spattered across my tummy and thighs – I even feel sticky under my butt – but I can't help but chuckle. And when Jon brings one of Ella's old shirts to my legs to clean me up, my chuckles turn to laughter. I lay back, smiling and catching my breath while my husband finishes wiping his cum off of my stomach with a toddler-sized Wonder Woman t-shirt.

“How do you say 'Your dog totally fucked up my orgasm' in German?” I ask.

Smiling wide, Jon tosses the soiled t-shirt across the room, then lies down on his side beside me. “I don't know. That phrase isn't in my flash cards. I think the Sexual Intercourse Mishaps expansion-pack got lost in the mail. I do, however, know how to say 'I left my cat in the grocery store.'”

“How useful,” I laugh, scooting a couple inches closer to Jon so that I could feel his warm skin against mine. He sits up for a moment to reach a throw blanket at the foot of our bed then pulls it across us both before settling back down, our heads resting on the same pillow.

“Guess what?” Jon asks while his fingers brush some stray hairs from my still-sweaty face.

“Hmm?”

Amusement in his voice, he says “Now that you've graduated. It's official. We're both vets.” 

I side eye him with a smirk. “Have you been waiting four years to tell that joke?”

Bashfully, he nods before kissing my cheek.

My eyelids feel heavy as Jon's hand begins to gently rub my hip. “I'm just going to take a nap for like, a half hour, and then we can try again,” I whisper.

Close to my ear, Jon murmurs “Okay. Rest up, Daenerys Targaryen – best friend, love of my life, mother of my children – because when you wake up, I'm fucking you doggy-style.”

I snort a laugh and shove him away from me only to turn and curl up against his side, resting my cheek on his chest. When I stop laughing, I close my eyes, relaxing once more into the feel of Jon's skin.

A few moments of silence engulf us before Jon speaks again. “You know, now that I've had a taste of getting to cum all over you, I don't know if I'll be able to go back to just cumming inside you.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upward. “Jon Snow,” I whisper as my hand gently caresses his side. “Best friend, love of my life, father of my children – please, shut the fuck up.”

Jon's arms wrap around me, enveloping me in his firm embrace as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. And then I feel his body relax beneath me and I can finally drift off to sleep to the sound of my husband's heartbeat, lying in the yellow light of the afternoon sun coming in through the sheer curtains, content to count this as another best day of my life, because it is another day spent being loved by my family.

THE END


End file.
